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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24624694">The New Normal</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuppaktea/pseuds/Gleaming_Spires'>Gleaming_Spires (cuppaktea)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>History Boys (2006), History Boys - All Media Types, History Boys - Bennett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, M/M, Pos and Scripps are getting married though so it's not all doom and gloom, eventual Dakin/Irwin, friends to lovers thing, grown up history boys because apparently that's where i live for some reason i don't understand, heartbreak and sadness, it's Dakin's turn to get emotionally bashed up a bit, should probably warn for alcohol abuse at this stage, why can't i write about the 80s???</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:59:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>33,473</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24624694</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuppaktea/pseuds/Gleaming_Spires</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuart Dakin is a man who is accustomed to life going smoothly. Attractive, popular, clever and now rich, by his early thirties he is in a successful job with plenty of opportunities for foreign travel, he has a stunning top floor flat in the middle of central London and is happily married to a sweet, funny, gorgeous solicitor in family law. So when, seemingly out of the blue, his wife tells him she wants a divorce, he feels as if he’s suddenly lost a wheel on middle of the motorway, and is now careering out of control towards the crash barrier with no tools whatsoever to help him out of the situation.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>David Posner/Donald Scripps, Stuart Dakin/Original Female Character(s), Stuart Dakin/Tom Irwin, mention of Tom Irwin/OMC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>194</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welp, I've run out of cracky nonsense it seems, so I've finally knuckled down to this fic which I started in... October. It's going to be a long one and it's not finished so I'll be posting chapters up as and when they're ready :) (and I finally get to give Dakin a good whacking with the angst stick - he deserves it).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>Stuart Dakin is a man who is accustomed to life going smoothly. Attractive, popular, clever and now rich, by his early thirties he is in a successful job with plenty of opportunities for foreign travel, he has a stunning top floor flat in the middle of central London and is happily married to a sweet, funny, gorgeous solicitor in family law. So when, seemingly out of the blue, his wife tells him she wants a divorce, he feels as if he’s suddenly lost a wheel on middle of the motorway, and is now careering out of control towards the crash barrier with no tools whatsoever to help him out of the situation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first few weeks after Jessica tells him their marriage is over are the hardest of Dakin’s life.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She’s thought about it long and hard, she says – when he scoffs at this she clarifies that, actually, she’s been thinking about it for ages.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He imagines her lying next to him at night, sleeplessly turning over her misery in her mind and wondering whether it would be worth it to leave him, while he sleeps in blissful ignorance beside her. How many nights had that been the case?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At first he refuses to believe it, is certain that he’s pissed her off for something somehow and she’s punishing him or… overreacting, or that perhaps it’s all a terrible mix up and she saw somebody who looked like him doing something dodgy, some unsuspecting look-alike and his girlfriend in some farcical twist that they’ll be laughing at soon, preferably in the bath together after some phenomenal and vulnerable make up sex.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And then another dreadful thought occurs to him as she pushes her long hair off her face and sighs that “No, Stu, it’s nothing like that. I’m just not happy, and honestly, I haven’t been for far too long now”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is there somebody else? Is that it?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No. No! This is about us, and about me and what I need.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What then? Whatever it is we can fix it!” and oh, God but he’s begging now, and he doesn’t care that it’s humiliating because he’s so fucking desperate.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And then it gets real and they’re sitting down for tear-stained meetings over coffee at the kitchen table and she’s describing how every divorce she oversees brings with it a fresh twist of envy at her client’s new found freedom; how she finds they’ve nothing in common, nothing meaningful to say to one another; that she feels they got married too soon, before she was sure, only she wouldn’t give herself the benefit of listening to her doubts then and wishes more with every passing day that she had. Every word is like a new knife in his heart and he nods dumbly as she suggests a trial separation, living together as housemates and moving into the spare room because she needs space, and she’s thought it through, she’ll move her dressing table in there and she’s always loved the book nook in there anyway.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He lasts a week before he falls on whiskey and then Scripps in quick succession.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>While Scripps welcomes him in like his own mother, makes up a room for him in his and Posner’s tiny house in Brixton, drives over to pick his drunk arse up and goes back the next morning to collect a suitcase so he doesn’t have to face Jessica, it’s Posner who helps him pick himself up again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>As a rule, he arrives home before Scripps, bringing a satchel of marking with him because he prefers to work at home while he oversees dinner rather than stay late at the school. Today he hauls an archive box of mock exam papers into the kitchen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dakin looks up from where he’s been idly petting the cat at the sound of paper scraping against the narrow walls of the hallway.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Here let me help”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can manage thanks, Dakin. I’m not some blushing secretarial intern”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I just thought I’d make myself useful”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Pos levels him with a sympathetic look. “You can do the washing up”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dakin obliges, feeling like a slob as he realises that half the dirty plates and cups piled on the side are his, while Pos puts on the radio and tunes it to Classic FM and the cat jumps up onto the table and sprawls across his work, displaying her belly for Posner to pet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Occasionally he gives a snort of laughter at a student’s answer or hums along to the music while Dakin works in silence, until all the clean dishes are piled up on the draining rack. He drains the sink and starts wiping the side.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, leave that, would you, you know I wasn’t really serious”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m happy to help”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Come here and give me a hand with these then” Pos sifts a chunk of papers out of the pile and plonks them down across the table. “Just a tick or a cross and grade them out of ten”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is that allowed?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He shrugs. “Who’s going to know? Ugh, how do I say ‘ignorant and badly written’ but in a constructive way?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dakin's lips twitch in a reluctant smile. “’Try reading a book next time’?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Pos laughs and watches silently as hepours himself a generous glass of whiskey.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Want one?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Go on, a small one”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The marking is tedious work, even the easy pop quiz Posner has given him to work through.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This kid has just written ‘Dick’ for the question about Maya Angelou”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“They’ve provided an illustration too”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Posner takes it off him. “Oh Eloise, no surprises there. We’re going to have to have a chat at parents evening”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He looks up and watches as Dakin drains his glass in one and reaches for the bottle again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No work again tomorrow?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I took the week off as holiday” He doesn’t know why, God knows, lying on his friends’ sofa in his joggers, eating toast, watching Lorraine Kelly and trying to stay on the knife edge of indifferently tipsy is hardly the ideal use of his precious holiday time. All he does know is that he doesn’t feel able to don the armour of his suit and smile and go out and face the world as Stuart Dakin, not just yet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As if reading his mind, Posner gently probes “Perhaps it would be better to have some sort of focus”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, maybe.” He rubs his hands over his face and exhales shakily.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dakin?” There’s worry in his voice that Dakin is pathetically, childishly grateful for.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I spoke to Jess today” He grinds the heels of his hands against his eyes as the tears start to come, unbidden. “She wants a divorce. What the fuck am I going to do?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s a touch on his shoulder and the memory of Hector as he sobbed helplessly all those years ago floats before his closed eyelids. He pushes his hands harder against them to try and dispel it. Like the apparent psychic he is, Posner changes the comforting touch to a manly pat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re going to be Stuart Dakin: you’re going to primp yourself up, find yourself a swanky new place to live where you can bring back supermodels and those sexy rowers you used to go for at Oxford, and you’re going to be ok. And I’m going to help you”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bless Posner but he does. In spite of his own heavy workload he helps Dakin draw up a list of specifications with columns of needs and wants, he visits the estate agents in his lunch hour with the list while Dakin sleeps off his hangover in the spare room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he returns home he brings a schedule of viewings he’s set up and with his help, Dakin peels himself off the couch and moves into his own place at the end of the month.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Scripps coordinates the boxing up and moving of his belongings so he doesn’t have to go back and face Jessica.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Standing in the new flat, empty but for his boxes of clothes and music, Scripps pats him on the shoulder and reminds him that Dakin has a suit fitting to attend next month as part of his duties as his best man, but neither his promises not to forget, nor the expensive wine he leaves for his hosts, seems to adequately cover his debt to their kindness.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hasn’t been on his own since he was eighteen, and even then he spent more time at Fiona’s place than he did his own house.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He isn’t sure what ‘home’ is supposed to feel like alone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sure you’ll be alright?” Scripps asks, giving him a sidelong glance, like he expects Dakin to beg him not to go, and a bit like he wants him to. A look like Scripps’s dad gave him when they first went off to uni and he dropped them at the college building together.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dakin half expects him to push twenty quid into his hand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I think I’ll manage, the estate agent didn’t mention any werewolves in the basement or anything”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Scripps rolls his eyes. “Hilarious. Well just call if you need anything.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He gives Dakin another would be surreptitious look and heads off.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A flash back in which Dakin tries to be sincere</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Oxford 1986</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t look, but that girl behind you”</p><p> </p><p>“How are we supposed to know who it is you’re talking about if we can’t look?”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin narrows his eyes at Posner’s logic.</p><p> </p><p>“Shit, she’s looking at us”</p><p> </p><p>Akthar laughs. “You’ve gone bright red!”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up” He hisses, adjusting the glass in his sweaty hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi”</p><p> </p><p>Nerves may get to him when he’s left to think, but a call for action has never found Dakin wanting and now she’s amid their small group he forgets to feel nervous and turns the charm on like a light.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m Stu” He smiles disarmingly, extending his hand and blinking his dark eyelashes at her.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, hi. Jessica. I think you’re in my debating society.” She shakes his hand and turns to Posner without further comment.</p><p> </p><p>Beside him, Akthar chokes on his drink. Dakin considers not patting him on the back but in the end he’s glad of the excuse to thump him.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re Don’s boyfriend, right? I’ve been dying to meet you, he talks about you non-stop”</p><p> </p><p>He can’t get a word in until Scripps comes to find them, flushed with adrenaline after his first big performance in the orchestra. He slings an arm around Posner, grin spreading as Pos kisses his cheek.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks for coming guys. Jess, I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight!”</p><p> </p><p>“I wouldn’t miss it. You were marvellous” She kisses his cheek too and he hugs her.</p><p> </p><p>Soon afterwards Dakin gives up and peels away to go to a party.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“That girl at the recital the other night?”</p><p> </p><p>He’s lying on Scripps’ bed, tossing a cricket ball in the air, the aim being to catch it before it breaks his nose, and improve his hand to eye skills – not his sport traditionally but one has to blend in.</p><p> </p><p>“Girl?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, tall girl, dark hair”</p><p> </p><p>“Jessica?”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s the one” He tries to sound nonchalant but fumbles the catch, sending the ball crashing into the wooden headboard.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck, be careful!”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry. So yeah, Jessica. How do you know her?”</p><p> </p><p>“She’s normally in the orchestra, plays the clarinet, only she caught her hand in a door last week. She’s in your debating society”</p><p> </p><p>“I never noticed her”</p><p> </p><p>“That surprises me”</p><p> </p><p>It surprises him too, honestly, but now he has noticed her he can’t get her out of his head.</p><p> </p><p>She isn’t at the debate that week and by the time the next one rolls around he’s almost given forgotten about her when she glides in, seemingly on a vanilla scented cloud. He relocates to the seat next to her and turns on the charm.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong with your mate?”</p><p> </p><p>Scripps looks blankly at him over his dinner. “He’s asking nonsensical questions for a start”</p><p> </p><p>“Not me, Jessica. Is she a lesbian?”</p><p> </p><p>“Leaving aside the fact that being a lesbian isn’t ‘wrong’” Posner rolls his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Excuse me for not being politically correct”</p><p> </p><p>“Knob” Pos mutters into his soup while Scripps laughs.</p><p> </p><p>“She said you’d been sniffing around”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not a dog”</p><p> </p><p>“Puppy more like” Posner adds wryly.</p><p> </p><p>Dakin thinks that’s a bit rich coming from somebody who trailed him around for the whole of sixth form but he doesn’t say it, to bring that up would be to arouse Scripps’s defensive side and he needs him in his corner.</p><p> </p><p>“How can I put this, Dakin?”</p><p> </p><p>“Plainly, if it’s not too much trouble”</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, your charming act comes over as insincere, smarmy, rehearsed”</p><p> </p><p>He frowns, this is a new perspective. “She said that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Actually,” Posner chips in “she said you were begging for a shag, pass the butter, please”</p><p> </p><p>Scripps elbows him.</p><p> </p><p>“What? It’s true”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh. Ok, what does she like? I can work with that, I can get to know her, I want to”</p><p> </p><p>“Dakin, stop. I’m not conspiring in this with you”</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, help a mate out”</p><p> </p><p>“Go and talk to her. Like a real human, instead of a charisma-bot-five-thousand”</p><p> </p><p>“Fine, I will.”</p><p> </p><p>He’s sceptical but figures he has nothing to lose if right now she’s laughing at him behind his back with Posner, of all people.</p><p> </p><p>As luck would have it he collides with her on the stairs as he leaves the dining hall.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, oh, hi Stu, didn’t see you there”</p><p> </p><p>“Jessica, just the woman.”</p><p> </p><p>She raises an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>“Look, I want to say: I’m sorry if I’ve come on too strong, I would really like to get to know you. It’s not that I don’t think you’re attractive, but I – hmm, I’m trying not to say something cheesy and it’s actually kind of difficult”</p><p> </p><p>She snorts an unattractive laugh and looks immediately mortified.</p><p> </p><p>“Nice.” He grins. “Anyway, would you like to go for a drink tonight? If you want me to leave you alone, let me know and I’ll stop embarrassing myself, but I would like to go out with you”</p><p> </p><p>She grimaces and readjusts the heavy book in her arms. “Sorry”</p><p> </p><p>“Right. Understood, I’ll leave you be”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I mean I have music practice tonight, but if you’re free tomorrow?”</p><p> </p><p>From then on the four of them become practically inseparable at uni. He spends the long vac at her parents’ place in Chalfont St Giles, and she comes to Sheffield for Christmas.</p><p> </p><p>He discovers what he’d suspected all along: that she’s sharp witted and fun and interesting.</p><p> </p><p>She loves Anne Bronte and Siouxie and the Banshees, and speaks three languages, she loves rollercoasters and horses and used to be into competitive show jumping until studying for Oxford meant she no longer had the time for it. She wants to see the world, plays the French horn and the piano as well as the clarinet ‘but not as well’, and loves stupid comedies without any redeeming artistic features.</p><p> </p><p>Eight months after they first meet, the night after they finish their final exams, Dakin gets down on one knee and proposes in the quad.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Dakin tries to rediscover himself in a number of very Dakin ways</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>London 1998</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Dakin glances around the empty flat. Food. Food is the first thing he needs and then somewhere to sit down.</p><p> </p><p>He contemplates a trip to Sainsbury’s before giving up and going to the pub around the corner.</p><p> </p><p>Over his pint and a grim reheated cottage pie he starts making lists. Lists, he finds, are a good way to get his head in order.</p><p> </p><p>He’ll need a John Lewis catalogue, and a decorator, or possibly it would be better to skip both these things and just hire a designer and give them his credit card. On the other hand, he really ought to start economising pending the divorce settlement. He isn’t naive enough to imagine he’ll get away scot-free.</p><p> </p><p>A cleaner comes high up he list, someone who’ll also do ironing if those people exist. All the jobs he used to leave to Jess. He’ll be fucked if his unwanted bachelorhood means spending his weekends dusting and picking up sweaty socks.</p><p> </p><p>Not that he can’t do chores for himself (he’s a working class boy deep down, after all) but starting to look after himself now feels like an admission of defeat. Not only defeat to his soon to be ex-wife, but he has the disarming sense that he’s back where he started. Like he’s landed on the long snake at the top of the board and is back to the beginning, just when he thought he was home free. Never mind that he’s in an expensive London flat, and not in his parents’ semi-detached in Sheffield, he can’t deny there’s a horrible symmetry to the whole thing. Cleaning up after himself like a lonely student would mean giving in to it.</p><p> </p><p>He considers finding someone to go home with, but the thought of bringing them back to his blow up mattress and sea of cardboard boxes hardly appeals.</p><p> </p><p>He ends up going to a wine bar in the end, and nevertheless meets a girl called Anna who takes him back to her place.</p><p> </p><p>They don’t talk, at least not about anything of importance, which suits him fine, and when he wakes up the next morning they have a quickie before she kicks him out. It’s perfect actually. He feels that bit closer to the man he used to be. It’s a Sunday so he goes home to shower and change, goes for a jog, showers again and drives out to the nearest furniture store and gives his credit card a work out.</p><p> </p><p>The bloke behind the counter is pathetically eager, cringing with delight every time Dakin expresses an opinion on some item of furniture. Afterwards, he scribbles something on a card and slides it over the counter with a smile. Dakin expects it to be his phone number before he glances at it and finds it’s a delivery slot. He’s flooded with a sense of foolishness. Not that he’d been considering it. The bloke is attractive enough but the fawning attitude is more of a turn off than anything else he can imagine. Besides, he hasn’t done blokes since uni, to go back would be another awful return to the start.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The traffic is bad, so he stops in somewhere and has dinner alone, feeling invisible and hating it. When he flirts with the waitress she looks unimpressed and there’s a burst of laughter from the kitchen as soon as she disappears between its swing doors.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps he ought to go and stay with his mum for a bit, remind himself how to start again, but no, that’s absurd - he’s no self made man, it was Oxford that made him, made his marriage too.</p><p> </p><p>He heads home under a cloud of gloom and the unexpected jolt of a car being driven into the back of his is bizarrely welcome. It provides something to be angry about and gives him permission to shout at someone – something to get his blood pumping and shake the funk off, he’s had enough of moping.</p><p> </p><p>It is sorely needed, and the delicious awareness of being alive floods his veins as he jumps out and points to his dented and scratched boot.</p><p> </p><p>“Why don’t you look where you’re fucking going? Have you any idea how expensive that car is?”</p><p> </p><p>He sounds like a right prick, but he doesn’t care, he’s enjoying it now he’s got going and shouts over the other driver’s feeble apologies.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, you’re sorry. I’m fucking sorry too, you wanker!” His accent is coming out now and he pauses to breathe, embarrassed.</p><p> </p><p>The other bloke has stopped apologising and is waiting with a hand on his hip for Dakin to finish.</p><p> </p><p>He feels chastised and patronised and bristles a little.</p><p> </p><p>“Aren’t you going to say anything?” He demands.</p><p> </p><p>The man shrugs and fiddles with his glasses, “I’ve already apologised. What else do you want?” He asks, without raising his voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Your insurance details would be a good start”</p><p> </p><p>He’s about Dakin’s age, taller, not as fit but very thin, bespectacled and drably dressed. The car similarly is nothing flash: a Ford focus in standard silver, its bonnet now crumpled like a biscuit tin.</p><p> </p><p>The guy adjusts his glasses once more and Dakin gets the feeling he’s being scrutinised before the man takes a pen and notebook out of his pocket and scribbles down his details while Dakin circles his car, taking photos of the damage and of the other bloke’s number plate just in case he decides to leave fake details and do a runner.</p><p> </p><p>He snatches the proffered piece of paper with a begrudging grunt of thanks and gets back into his car.</p><p> </p><p>Once the door clunks closed he’s enveloped in calm and quiet. He pushes away the feeling of surging shame, takes a breath and unfolds the paper. He flicks his eyes over the details.</p><p> </p><p>The name is written in red pen at the top, over a phone number, the registration number of the car and name of the insurance company:</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Thomas Irwin</em>
</p><p> </p><p>With a flash, the image falls into place in Dakin’s mind, which apparently still has a compartment specially reserved for this man. He snaps his head up just in time to see the bashed up focus pulling away in the rear view mirror.</p><p> </p><p>The roads are moving freely now, the rush hour past and it vanishes across a lane of traffic, through the lights ahead and out of sight.</p><p> </p><p><em>”Fuck”</em> he sighs, laying his forehead on the steering wheel. A horn honks behind him and he slaps the note down on top of the dashboard and rejoins the traffic.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Another weeny flashback, for Irwin this time.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am cracking through this way faster than I thought, so the next chapter may be up tonight, or next week. I... am not being helpful, I'm sorry.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>London 1997</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“How about a cactus?”</p><p> </p><p>Tom looks up and winces. “My aunt used to have loads, covered in spider’s webs and displayed on yellow doilies. Not really the look I’m going for. I like the Aspidistras”</p><p> </p><p>It’s his friend’s turn to wrinkle his nose. “Yeah lovely, if you’re a Victorian widow”</p><p> </p><p>“Cheers, Bill.” He leans against a low wall and rubs absently at his thigh.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s what I’m here for. The leg sore?”</p><p> </p><p>“A little. I’m just tired”</p><p> </p><p>“OK, enough plants, coffee time”</p><p> </p><p>They make their way through the garden centre to the little café and Tom gratefully takes a seat while Bill gets them coffee and cake. He’s one of their few gay couple-friends and a good friend, if not an old one.</p><p> </p><p>They’ve known each other about a year, and met through a cookery course that Rob bought him (passive aggressively Tom had thought at the time) for their six year anniversary. Bill was leading the class, and while the height of Tom’s culinary skill is still a risotto, he had to admit it was more fun than he’d expected. </p><p> </p><p>“I love working evenings” Bill sighs, gesturing to the half empty place and dishing out the plates. “This place does such a good carrot cake, but you have to get here early”</p><p> </p><p>He takes a bite of cake and gives an obscene sounding groan.</p><p> </p><p>Tom gives a half-hearted smile.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s the matter? Still having problems at home?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not problems, per se, it’s just … ugh I can’t put my finger on it”</p><p> </p><p>“Want to talk about it?”</p><p> </p><p>“No” He shakes his head firmly and picks up his fork. The cake is good.</p><p> </p><p>“Rob’s just so distant all the time.”</p><p> </p><p>Bill doesn’t interrupt, just nods.</p><p> </p><p>“I feel like … I don’t know, like I bore him. He never wants to go out, he never wants to do anything together” He leans across the table and drops his voice to a whisper “we haven’t had sex in ages. I’ve asked him and he says there’s nothing wrong, but I’m finding it hard to believe”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s probably just because he’s out of work. It’s no fun being sat around all day feeling useless”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe, yeah”</p><p> </p><p>“You should’ve invited him along”</p><p> </p><p>“I did, he said he wasn’t interested”</p><p> </p><p>“Should have told him about the cake”</p><p> </p><p>Tom smiles “Yeah, maybe I’ll take a slice home.”</p><p> </p><p>They finish their coffee in silence.</p><p> </p><p>Bill wipes his face and smiles. “You heading away any time in the future?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not likely” He grimaces. “Budget cuts. The most I’ll get is a weekend at some hostel near a stately home”</p><p> </p><p>“Shame, it’d do you good.”</p><p> </p><p>He fakes a smile. “Never mind, instead I’ll have to fill my sadness with houseplants. I’m thinking maybe a fern…”</p><p> </p><p>They’re interrupted by a white-haired lady who politely asks Tom if he’s off the telly, and tells him he ought to do another series on Churchill.</p><p> </p><p>“The last one was wonderful, the one by the other chap – the older one, on Channel Four. I like your series as well, of course, but it’s a bit different, isn’t it? Still, everybody likes Churchill. I think another one would be ever so interesting”</p><p> </p><p>“Bloody Churchill” He mutters after she’s left.</p><p> </p><p>“You shouldn’t be so polite to their faces, then they’d stop talking”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, and I’d lose my job.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re so depressingly practical. Come on, plants and something to cheer up that handsome man of yours”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The worst thing about it is it’s all so tragically clichéd.</p><p> </p><p>An ill-timed power cut at work means filming is put back by a day, leaving him and the other ‘non essential’ staff with nothing to do. Like the good colleague he is, he bids the poor tech staff goodbye and heads home early.</p><p> </p><p>He isn’t perturbed by the strange pair of shoes in the hall, hopefully having some company will help to shake Rob out of whatever funk he’s been in for the past few months, Tom ought to have suggested it sooner.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe he’s just been depressed, Tom thinks with a stab of guilt about how little effort he’s really put in to fixing whatever is wrong. A good friend is just what he needs.</p><p> </p><p>Making his way into the living room, he expects to find him and his mate on the playstation or something, but there’s nobody there, and the place is strangely silent. Probably on the balcony then.</p><p> </p><p>He wanders through to the kitchen, weighing up the choices of beer or tea in his mind.</p><p> </p><p>Bill is there looking into the fridge. In a towel.</p><p> </p><p>“Tom. Jesus, you made me jump. My plumbing’s broken, I came round to use the shower”</p><p> </p><p>And the sad thing is Tom would have believed him if he didn’t look so damn shifty. His eyes flick towards the door, seemingly unconsciously and before he knows it, Tom is stepping out into the hallway.</p><p> </p><p>“Tom, no wait!”</p><p> </p><p>A t-shirt and jeans are strewn outside the bedroom door, which is mercifully closed.</p><p> </p><p>He stands there frozen, his thoughts stuck like a pin in a scratched record, unable to rationalise or decide where to go from here.</p><p> </p><p>Bill’s voice comes from over his shoulder, closer than he’s comfortable with right now.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s asleep”</p><p> </p><p>Tom closes his eyes and breathes out some of the tension. Tension made by months of worrying in the back of his head that he isn’t good enough, that he’s been failing as a partner, that he needs to do <em>better</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Do me a favour, yeah?” He whispers, without turning around. “Tell him what happened and that I’ve left him”</p><p> </p><p>“Tom..."</p><p> </p><p>He expects Bill to say he’s sorry, but he doesn’t. Presumably he thinks it through and realises how hollow it would sound. Tom is glad.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Dakin and Irwin bond over their sad lives and I've somehow written another stag do</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>London 1998</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When he gets back to his –his mind rebels at calling the place ‘home’ – the breeze from outside catches the paper off the dashboard, whipping it out of the car and sending it fluttering to the ground. He hurries to pluck it up off the garage floor. It’s lying face down and there’s a message scrawled on the back in cramped red writing. He hadn’t noticed it before.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Sorry about your car, Dakin : (</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Heart thumping, he jogs upstairs, not bothering to wait for the lift, and grabs the phone as soon as he gets in the door.</p><p> </p><p>He checks his watch while he waits for it to connect, it’s gone nine, Irwin should have made it home by now, unless he lives somewhere out of town…</p><p> </p><p>“Irwin. Hello? Is anyone there?”</p><p> </p><p>Remembering himself, Dakin clears his throat. “You knew it was me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, it’s you. Hello”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin pictures him fiddling with his glasses again.</p><p> </p><p>“Why didn’t you say something?”</p><p> </p><p>“You were getting quite aggressive”</p><p> </p><p>Embarrassed, he rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry about that” He mutters. “It’s been a rough day. Rough month, really.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry to hear it. Anyway you’ve got my insurance details. I hope your car gets fixed soon.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait! I mean, did you want to go for a drink sometime?”</p><p> </p><p>“…A drink.”</p><p> </p><p>“Just a drink, no funny business”</p><p> </p><p>“… Promise not to get revenge on me for denting your 50 horsepower German monstrosity?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a special import”</p><p> </p><p>“Right…and?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m just saying”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m very impressed. I’m not sure my insurance will be, but so be it”</p><p> </p><p>“So is that a yes? … For the drink”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“I thought you wanted to move on with your life, not take a U-turn” Scripps chuckles down the phone, when he tells him.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s just a drink. In a pub, after work”</p><p> </p><p>“Because you feel bad for shouting at him? I personally would relish the chance to call him a wanker to his face. I get to do it to the telly occasionally”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin shifts uncomfortably. “I can’t explain it, it just feels like he came back into my life for a reason, that’s all”</p><p> </p><p>“Romantic”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up you tit”</p><p> </p><p>Scripps chuckles. “You all on track for the wedding?”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin winces, biting his tongue against saying anything bitter.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry to ask right now, it’s just that it’s next month already and I’m getting a bit jumpy”</p><p> </p><p>“Stag night’s all organised and paid for, and you can still back out if you want to”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck off”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m only joking. Everything’s set this end, nothing to worry about”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The pub on a Friday evening is crowded, giving it just the right atmosphere of anonymity for Dakin.</p><p> </p><p>When Irwin turns up he gets a round in to assuage his guilt over being a prick about the car, but Irwin still takes the opportunity to taunt him. Dakin is oddly pleased to see he hasn’t changed much.</p><p> </p><p>“How’s the patient?”</p><p> </p><p>“Eh?”</p><p> </p><p>“Your special import”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not going to let me live it down, are you?”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin shrugs, smirking. “I’m trying to get as many free drinks out of this as I can, before I’m very, very poor”</p><p> </p><p>“It was new last year!”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a beautiful penis extension, please don’t imagine I’m disparaging it”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Dakin isn’t even sure why he tells Irwin all about Jessica, it’s not that he turned up intending to, but it pours out with an embarrassingly small amount of alcoholic lubrication.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m so bloody angry with her, you know? She never even tried to work things through, no counselling, nothing. Just ‘I don’t love you anymore. This marriage makes me feel trapped’. Who does that?”</p><p> </p><p>“It could be worse”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin tells him all about Rob, and the misery of boxing up the flat, and putting it up for sale, and rewriting his will and all of the unexpected administrative shit that accompanies heartbreak and makes it last that much longer.</p><p> </p><p>“At least you weren’t married” Dakin tells him wryly.</p><p> </p><p>“I suppose I ought to be grateful” He sulks.</p><p> </p><p>“If you think ending a long term relationship is hard, I’d count it a lucky escape. I’m not allowed to get divorced for another year and it’s going to cost me ten grand before anything even gets divided up”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s shit” Irwin mopes. “”And you know what the worst part is? It’s wondering how long it was all a lie for, when I thought we were happy and in love. And now he’s living a new life without the burden of me and – “ He sniffs, pausing to get his breathing under control. “Sorry”</p><p> </p><p>“No, it’s ok. Tell me”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s just…What am I supposed to do now?"</p><p> </p><p>“Honestly? Sounds like you need to get laid”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin sits shocked for a beat before he laughs.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m serious”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe” He says, coyly swirling the ice cubes round the bottom of his glass rather than look at Dakin.</p><p> </p><p>“Definitely. What you need is some good old-fashioned, no-strings-attached headboard-rattling to perk you up”</p><p> </p><p>“You offering?” Irwin challenges.</p><p> </p><p>It’s clearly meant as a joke, something off the cuff and shocking to make him shut up about it - but only just. It makes Dakin’s breath catch in his throat.</p><p> </p><p>Hoping he manages to hide how off balance he suddenly is, he fakes a laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“Wish I could help, but I’m straight” Now. Mostly. Practically anyway, the rest is all theory so it doesn’t count.</p><p> </p><p>“Shame” Irwin laughs.</p><p> </p><p>A joke again, and clearly meant as such and Dakin’s stomach drops. Too much booze on an empty stomach. He fucking hopes so, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s shit.” He declares once more, steering the conversation back on track. “But at least you don’t have to pay alimony”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“I can’t believe you’re seeing that awful man again” Scripps groans, sounding awfully superior for a man wearing fake breasts.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh pipe down, for God’s sake, what did he ever do to you?”</p><p> </p><p>And, of course, Scripps has no riposte other than to shake his head and smile to himself.</p><p> </p><p>“We’re mates” Dakin shrugs, not sure why he isn’t able to let it lie, even waiting in line outside a club on the Costa del Sol wearing a pink t-shirt emblazoned with a large picture of Posner's face inside a heart, accessorised with an obnoxious plastic and crepe Hawaiian Lei around his neck.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you even do?” Scripps is shouting embarrassingly loudly into the hot, lazy evening. A good sign, because it means he’s pissed.</p><p> </p><p>“We go for drinks, we chat about stuff” Dakin shouts back</p><p> </p><p>“Our old teacher” Scripps explains to the assorted group of friends. “Stu used to fancy him”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t be juvenile”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you have to talk about <em>with him</em>, of all people?”</p><p> </p><p>“His relationship just broke down. It’s nice to have someone to share with who’s in the same boat”</p><p> </p><p>He flings an arm around Dakin’s shoulders. “You know you’re always welcome here,” He makes a clumsy sweeping gesture, seemingly forgetting they aren’t at his home. “and I’m on the other end of the phone, anytime. I was your best man, Dakin. I was there for the whole thing”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not that I don’t know that, of course I do.”</p><p> </p><p>“And we don’t talk to Jessica anymore if that’s what you’re worried about, I’m your friend first” He jabs a finger hard into his chest in a very un-Scripps like gesture.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks mate, and I do rely on you, I do, but you and Pos are still together and so happy and – well misery loves company is all”</p><p> </p><p>“Divorcees anonymous, is it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Something like that” The truth is that Dakin can hardly bear the sight of them together these days: Pos and Scripps in their happy little cocoon.</p><p> </p><p>The bouncer waves them inside so luckily he doesn’t have to explain any of this, although it’s doubtful that Scripps would remember anyway.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dakin continues to get emo on everything while hanging out with Irwin</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>See end notes for my embarrassing confession</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>He fills Irwin in about his friends when they next meet, in Irwin’s small but neat new flat on the other side of the river. Like his own, it’s still scattered with boxes.</p><p> </p><p>“They got together at Oxford. Getting the civil partnership next week. It’s all very sweet, very cosy”</p><p> </p><p>“I never picked up on them having a thing for each other”</p><p> </p><p>“Really? You’re the only one who didn’t”</p><p> </p><p>“Posner fancied you, I remember”</p><p> </p><p>“Everyone fancies me to start with” Dakin grins over the top of his beer bottle.</p><p> </p><p>Irwin laughs and shakes his head. “True”</p><p> </p><p>“Once he got over it he saw what was staring him in the face all along”</p><p> </p><p>“Very poetic. You’re going to the wedding, I take it”</p><p> </p><p>“Civil partnership”</p><p> </p><p>“Wedding”</p><p> </p><p>“Civil partnership”</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh, don’t be that person, please”</p><p> </p><p>“What person?”</p><p> </p><p>“The: rubs it in our faces that we don’t have the same rights as you homophobic dickhead person”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not homophobic, I nearly slept with you, for Christ’s sake!”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, nearly. A hundred years ago”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin sighs. “Honestly, I’m not. It’s not some sanctity of marriage shit, I’m just a bitter old bloke who’s had his heart smashed and I hate that it’s working out for somebody else. To answer your question, I’m the best man and, honestly, I’d rather stick pins in myself for the day than do it. Two of my oldest mates, one of them my best mate in the whole world, celebrating their happiness together and I would rather do anything than go along and fake a smile for a few hours. What does that say about me?”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin’s eyes shine full of pity.</p><p> </p><p>“That you need a break, I think. Why don’t you go away afterwards?”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not a terrible idea. My only saving grace is that she won’t be there”</p><p> </p><p>“You taking anyone?” Irwin picks at the label on his bottle.</p><p> </p><p>“No, fuck – I’ve had enough of that for a bit - I’m going to do my duty as the best man and then get wasted”</p><p> </p><p>“Written your speech?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh Christ, no.” He groans “I’ve got the bones of it worked out, but Jess was supposed to be helping me with it. I’m not even sure where it is anymore. I’m no good at these things.”</p><p> </p><p>“Better hurry. I’ll give you a hand, if you want?”</p><p> </p><p>He makes one of those strange, would-be-encouraging hand gestures of his. Dakin had forgotten about those. He stares for a second, watching Irwin’s pale eyelashes fluttering behind his glasses.</p><p> </p><p>“I saw you on the telly the other day, thought I’d see what all the fuss is about”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin’s eyes fix on a spot across the room. Dakin can’t be sure but he thinks he’s holding his breath, too.</p><p> </p><p>He clears his throat. “And?”</p><p> </p><p>“It was…” frowning, he searches for the right word. “Comforting”</p><p> </p><p>He pulls a face. “Not really what we were going for – exploring the horrors of war and all that”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not what I mean. It felt like… regressing, sort of going back into the womb”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin purses his lips and nods. “I’m a womb to you; good to know”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin snorts. “No, school is the womb, or maybe childhood, or Sheffield, I don’t know, it’s a shit analogy. I told you, I’m no good at prose.”</p><p> </p><p>“And what am I?” Irwin’s voice is barely above a whisper.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re… the surrounding heartbeat.”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin smiles, softly. “Smoothie. And you say you’re no good with words. Come on”</p><p> </p><p>He claps Dakin on the shoulder, crosses the room and fishes a pad of paper and a pen out of a box on top of the kitchen table.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, you were serious?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’ll be like old times. That’s what you were talking about right? Biological metaphors notwithstanding”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin grunts and rubs his suddenly aching head. “I don’t know what to say”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Arse. I mean the speech”</p><p> </p><p>“Fondly mocking goes over well, I believe. Got any embarrassing memories of Scripps?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know if they fit the bill. I don’t want it to read like a brief history of his life: I remember the time when Scripps learned to ride a bike, I remember the time when he learned to ride a bloke”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin chortles. “When did you meet?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, we were kids”</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds perfect, he must have done something back then that’s funny”</p><p> </p><p>“Not really” He props his head on his hand. “He was always such a goody two shoes, getting me out of trouble, usually” He muses, glumly.</p><p> </p><p>“You can work with that” He jots something down. “You must have something from the stag? That’s kind of the point of them: to provide ammo for the speech”</p><p> </p><p>“No. I mean it was funny, but him dancing like a fool to Madonna wearing fake tits and a tiara makes great visual comedy but sadly doesn’t translate well into an anecdote”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I want to hear about it.”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin gives him a sideways look.</p><p> </p><p>“Uni then, come on, put some effort in.”</p><p> </p><p>Glancing over at the paper, Dakin can see he’s just drawn a crude doodle of a grumpy face.</p><p> </p><p>“Crap or not you’re going to be giving this speech next week so you might as well not die on your arse.”</p><p> </p><p>He has a point. Dakin thinks back to the summer after he and Jess first started dating.</p><p> </p><p>The three of them had teased her mercilessly about being a posh girl with a pony (“horse! And there’s five of them” she’d corrected them, laughing “but they’re Mummy’s not mine”), she’d said if they were going to tease her they might as well play posh boys for an afternoon before picking a side, so the four of them went on a punt and picnic up the river.</p><p> </p><p>Posner said he felt like he was in Brideshead and wore a straw boater (Jess and Dakin had asked if he bought it especially but he refused to say). He’d sat out his turn at punting in favour of doing some sketches of the ducks and called Scripps Sebastian… and then they’d argued over who was the most Sebastian of the group.</p><p> </p><p>As Jess’s Mummy had five horses they’d made her buy the expensive things and she’d arrived at the riverbank with champagne and strawberries. Posner had brought along pork pies and made them swear on pain of death never to tell his mother.</p><p> </p><p>When it was Jess’s turn at punting she’d got the pole stuck in the riverbed and they very nearly lost it, only Dakin holding on to her by the waist had saved her, and they’d pulled it free together, and then Pos’s stupid hat had got blown into the water and he had shrieked like he was Maria Callas singing Madam Butterfly. Jess had run for one of the oars to hook it, while Scripps tried to grab it with the pole, lost his balance and toppled in. He’d saved the hat in the end and plonked it back onto Posner’s head, where it dripped river water down his face.</p><p> </p><p>Dakin had been laughing so hard he nearly fell into the water himself. He didn’t - not until Posner pushed him, and then he’d pulled Jess in when she tried to help him out.</p><p> </p><p>He smiles as he recounts it, back then he couldn’t imagine that anything would have ever gone wrong for them.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>OK, I realised today I did a dumb dumb, and have made civil partnerships a thing like six years before they actually were, and I'm too lazy to edit everything I've posted so far and the stuff I have already written on the word doc... so can you all just forgive me and we'll just pretend like I didn't fuck up or that you didn't notice or whatever? Ta x</p><p>(I hope it doesn't RUIN THE WHOLE THING for anyone or anything)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Dakin has a wedding to attend and is a right grumpy sod about it</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>...So we just going to pretend that the timeline fuck up never happened, right? Excellent xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>The wedding is as miserable as Dakin had feared. It’s small and intimate and on a shoestring budget, everything his wedding wasn’t, and everyone there except him is sickeningly happy for them.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a very short ceremony in Lambeth Registry Office, where there’s a single bunch of sunflowers at the front, trying its hardest to cheer the place up.</p><p> </p><p>Neither of his friends seem to mind, or even notice the depressing atmosphere, and it makes him wonder if all the pomp, and the little Norman church in Buckinghamshire, the three course professionally catered meal, the acres of flowers, the big dress, and the marquee, and the boat down the river to their hotel was just wallpaper over the cracks of his own already dying relationship.</p><p> </p><p>“Dakin” Scripps gives him a nudge and, embarrassed, he realises he’s daydreamed through his cue.</p><p> </p><p>He hands the ring over and that’s it, just a peck on the cheek and off to the reception in their normal cars, not a Rolls Royce or a ribbon in sight. If it weren’t for Scripps’ mum throwing a bit of rice, the average passer by wouldn’t know it from a hearing on a traffic violation.</p><p> </p><p>As promised, Jessica isn’t there, so there’s that, but he ends up wishing that she were, surrounded by their mutual friends and missing her painfully.</p><p> </p><p>He begs off as soon as possible – after the photographs (on Pos and Scripps’s lawn, in front of the flowerbeds), the meal (a buffet, prepared by the family), the speeches (which thankfully go well) and the cake (homemade and hand decorated by Scripps’s mum). He finally makes his excuses just as it’s getting dark, straight after Pos and Scripps finish their first dance in the small summery garden of their home.</p><p> </p><p>Posner, his cheeks pink with wine, thanks him for attending with a kiss on the cheek, his new ring glittering on his hand when he lays it on Dakin’s shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>Scripps looks so happy Dakin doubts he even registered that he’s leaving, he simply beams.</p><p> </p><p>He’s remained sober with the aim of driving home as soon as possible, but it occurs to him as he gets into his newly repaired car that he’s unwittingly saved himself a lot of embarrassment – he shudders at the thought of what he might have said if he’d been pissed enough to drop the cheery act.</p><p> </p><p>Once he’s at the flat, he’s too keyed up to sleep and he gives up watching telly at around midnight, and goes for a late run instead, wishing there were some way of indicating to the various girls he sees stepping aside and clutching their bags, that he’s just ansty and not a mugger.</p><p> </p><p>When he gets in he dials the familiar number almost without thinking. There’s no answer but it’s late, so it’s not surprising. He leaves a voice message and then curses himself for being an idiot.</p><p> </p><p>The light on the machine is blinking when he emerges from the shower. An idiot he may be, but something in him glows at the familiar voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi, Stu. Sorry I just missed you. Pop over tomorrow if you like”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He takes a minute to stand in the living room and look out over the London skyline. He forgot how much he loved the view from these windows.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry it took so long, I’m a bit all over the place. Work stuff” Jessica smiles apologetically as she brings in a box of papers – the last remnants of his life here.</p><p> </p><p>Now she mentions it, she does look tired. Her eyes are red and her long hair, usually styled in long waves is piled on top of her head in a bun that might be intentionally messy, but something tells him it’s not. She’s wearing paint stained jogging bottoms and a t-shirt that might once have belonged to him.</p><p> </p><p>She puts the box on the coffee table and perches on the arm of the settee.</p><p> </p><p>“How was the wedding?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nice, actually. Small, but nice. I didn’t ask them to uninvite you. Honestly, I would have liked to see you”</p><p> </p><p>She shakes her head and passes a hand over her face. “It’s fine, friends pick sides, it’s what happens”</p><p> </p><p>He offers a small awkward smile. “I see you’ve restyled. Feng shui is it?”</p><p> </p><p>“It looked odd with all your stuff gone. Besides, I need to declutter if it’s going to be viewing-ready. I know we haven’t talked about selling, but it’s too much for me to hold on to”</p><p> </p><p>“You never know, we haven’t been to court yet,” He teases, trying to remember how to be friends. “You might get to keep it”</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t laugh. If anything, she looks cross. “I’m not trying to take you for your money, Stu. You must know that”</p><p> </p><p>“Why not? Marriage is a financial contract, after all”</p><p> </p><p>She looks away, disgusted with him. “Typical tax lawyer.”</p><p> </p><p>“Says the woman who spends her nine to five splitting up couples and trying to take one half of them for as much as she can.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t believe you were always this cynical, you used to be romantic”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, and I used to have a wife”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” her voice thick, she points an accusing finger at his chest. “You’ve been like this for a long time”</p><p> </p><p>“Great, now we’re getting somewhere! Any other tips you want to give me, or am I still supposed to guess?”</p><p> </p><p>She stands and holds her hands up in surrender. “I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to fight”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you want? Do you even know?”</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes flash with anger and for a mad moment he thinks she might be about to slap him. When her lips meet his he doesn’t even think about not kissing her back.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Dakin takes a small break and gets some more <strike>upsetting</strike> news</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Somewhere between baulking at the idea of taking a shower in what had once been his en-suite and arriving back at his car he decides to take Irwin’s advice and get away for a bit. Or maybe it’s when he unexpectedly finds himself welling up when, pulling on his trousers, he discovers a crumpled napkin from yesterday’s wedding in his pocket.</p><p> </p><p>Distance, that’s what he needs. Distance and decadence.</p><p> </p><p>Paris isn’t the most original choice, but it’s easy to get to on the Eurostar and he already has the language. He doesn’t tell anyone he's going, not that many people in his life would care. The secret is easier to keep than he’d like; all his friends seem too busy to check on him. Even Irwin, who normally welcomes a dose of misery these days, doesn’t ring once, not even to ask how the dreaded wedding went.</p><p> </p><p>The week stretching between Pos and Scripps's wedding and Dakin alighting at the Gare du Nord is interminable, but eventually, Friday evening rolls around and he switches off his mobile and heads across town to St Pancras. He gives himself plenty of extra time to go shopping before getting on the train and buys what feels like half a bookshop at the station.</p><p> </p><p>He hasn’t been to Paris in years, and as the cab takes him through the Renaissance streets, he decides that it was the right choice.</p><p> </p><p>The hotel room is so tiny it isn’t even possible to close the bathroom door when he’s inside it, not that he cares. He’s got a view of the Eiffel Tower from his bed, and the whole weekend to drink posh wine and strong coffee while eating pastries and reading in the sunshine. It doesn’t help him think things through, but it provides ample opportunities for escapism, which is better as far as he’s concerned. He doesn’t usually run away from his problems, generally preferring to face things head-on, but currently, he wants nothing more than to bury his head in the sand for a few days.</p><p> </p><p>He’s sorry to return on Sunday night, so he reckons that it must have done him good.</p><p> </p><p>There are no messages waiting for him on his answering machine and nothing on his neglected mobile either. He had hoped Jess would want to talk. He needs to get a grip.</p><p> </p><p>Pos and Scripps are away on their honeymoon – splashing the cash that they saved on the wedding on a holiday instead. As for Jessica, well, she made it clear where he stood last week. The anger rises again as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. At least there’s somebody without an excuse. Awkwardly, he jabs out a text to Irwin.</p><p> </p><p>&lt;&lt;Still alive, in case u were worried&gt;&gt;</p><p> </p><p>He regrets the tone as soon as he presses send and fires off an apology.</p><p> </p><p>&lt;&lt;Sorry. In a mood. Could really use a mate.&gt;&gt;</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t receive an answer until Tuesday lunchtime.</p><p> </p><p>&lt;&lt;I’m well too thanx. Dinner Fri? Bella Italia by my tube stop&gt;&gt;</p><p> </p><p>He wants to be pissed off with him, but can’t help but smirk as he sends his reply under the table while the boring lunch meeting around him continues to overrun.</p><p> </p><p>&lt;&lt;U no how 2 tempt a man&gt;&gt;</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When he arrives at the restaurant Irwin is already there, waiting for him at a table near the back. There’s a glass of wine waiting on the table for him which softens his annoyance at Irwin going MIA for the past week, just when he needed a friendly ear.</p><p> </p><p>Dakin pulls himself together and freshens his wilting resolve to not let him off too lightly.</p><p> </p><p>He’s apparently engrossed in the menu, so Dakin dumps a small pile of books onto the table with a thump to announce his arrival. Instead of jumping, Irwin looks up and smiles.</p><p> </p><p>Dakin notices he’s looking refreshed since their last meeting.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello, stranger. Stuff I read in Paris that I thought you might enjoy. Did I mention I was in Paris? Thinking of you and books to lend you. Nice of you to ask”</p><p> </p><p>“Believe it or not, Stuart, our friendship isn’t tenuously held together by my continually thinking about you”</p><p> </p><p>He definitely looks happy, Dakin thinks, taking his seat opposite. </p><p> </p><p>“I was getting worried about you, I see the feeling isn’t reciprocated”</p><p> </p><p>“I think you can look after yourself”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe, but it’s not my first choice. It’s very rude of you not to have missed me”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, I’ve been away with work” It’s a plausible excuse but something about it rings false.</p><p> </p><p>Dakin leans forward and narrows his eyes; studying him closely. “You sound very chipper for a change.”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin squirms a little under the scrutinizing gaze.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m usually chipper. It’s you who’s the miserable bastard, remember?”</p><p> </p><p>Leaning back, Dakin gives an unimpressed hum. “If I didn’t know you better I’d think you got some”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin gives his glasses a push and takes a renewed interest in the menu, but can’t conceal the little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes grow wide. “You jammy bastard, who? When?”</p><p> </p><p>Grinning despite his obvious embarrassment, Irwin explains. “He’s a sound technician at work. I’ve fancied him for a while and he asked me out. Nothing momentous, we just had dinner. He cooked and…” His cheeks blush dark pink and he coughs. “I‘ve never tried the tagliatelle, that’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Is that it? Is that all my gossip?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re like an old woman. Stuff was done, a bed was not involved and I didn’t stay the night”</p><p> </p><p>“You shared a quick wank on the sofa?”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin goes redder, if possible. “If you want a drawing I can do you one”</p><p> </p><p>“Doubtful, I’ve seen your drawing”</p><p> </p><p>The waiter comes and Dakin tries to organise how he feels about this development. He settles on envious - not because Irwin’s finally got some sex, but that he seems to have enjoyed it, without the accompanying guilt or melancholy that nags at Dakin. Or perhaps it’s because he’s found a way to move on.</p><p> </p><p>Their orders placed, the waiter departs and Dakin takes a large gulp of wine to cover his less than friendly reaction.</p><p> </p><p>“We’re going out again, to the cinema on Friday”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe this week you’ll even take some layers off”</p><p> </p><p>“Something’s got you in a good mood, hasn’t it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t ask”</p><p> </p><p>“And yet you so obviously want me to…”</p><p> </p><p>“I slept with Jessica”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin’s mouth opens in a perfect circle. “Oh”</p><p> </p><p>“I went to go and pick up some stuff after the wedding just bank records and things she found in the attic and wanted rid of – I should have told her to dump the lot but, ugh I wanted to see her, I guess. We ended up in bed. I don’t know what came over me, nostalgia, misery.”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin winces in sympathy.</p><p> </p><p>“Not the best plan”</p><p> </p><p>“Tell me about it, I feel like she’s cut my heart open all over again. I just – I fucking loved that woman, you know? I did my absolute best to be a good husband and she turns around and throws it in my face. She’s been seeing someone else.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry. At least she waited until you broke up”</p><p> </p><p>“I suppose I have that comfort to cling to” he drawls sarcastically.</p><p> </p><p>“As opposed to, say, shagging someone you thought was your friend behind your back for the past year”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, but she told me before I’d even got out of the bed – bam! 'I’m seeing someone'”</p><p> </p><p>“Have you been consulting him on your steadily decaying relationship and how to fix it? For months?”</p><p> </p><p>“No. I get it. You win. Do you want to get pissed?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“I think you were right.” He yells into Irwin’s ear five pints later “I just need to get away. I’m going to put myself forward for more travelling at work. Do you want to do shots?”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which there is much chat, Irwin needs some company, and Dakin tries to take an interest in Scripps' holiday photos</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A bit of a long one this time (at least for this series). </p><p>Sorry it's a bit slow moving, but Dakin sure is taking his sweet time to realise what he wants, and I don't like to rush him.Do let me know if you have Thoughts Xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>Scripps stops in once he and posner get back, to drop off some souvenirs from Mauritius.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re so gay” Dakin laughs, even as he sticks his magnet on the fridge, where it sits alone and out of place next to the SMEG label.</p><p> </p><p>He is tanned and looking more relaxed that Dakin’s ever seen him, which, considering that he’s the most laid back person Dakin knows, is going some.</p><p> </p><p>“Posner not with you? Am I being shunned?”</p><p> </p><p>Scripps leans back against the kitchen worktop. In the old days he’d have hopped up and sat on it. They’re both getting old, Dakin supposes.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s straight back to work, we were taking the piss going away for the whole of September anyway. He was only allowed the time off because he dropped some heavy hints that he would consider it homophobic if they refused his request.”</p><p> </p><p>“The cheeky fucker! I’m proud of him”</p><p> </p><p>“Me too.”</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever happened to that shy boy who had a crush on me at school?”</p><p> </p><p>Scripps snorts derisively. “He only existed inside your head”</p><p> </p><p>“If only I’d known”</p><p> </p><p>“Indeed. Lucky me”</p><p> </p><p>“Stop, you know you’re made for each other”</p><p> </p><p>Scripps grins and blushes, even under his tan he looks lobster-red. “So, how have you been?”</p><p> </p><p>“OK, thanks” Dakin lies, faking a smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Irwin been keeping you company I expect?”</p><p> </p><p>“Barely, he’s got some new beau”</p><p> </p><p>“You sound like my Gran. That explains why you’re here instead of scampering after him like a puppy”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t <em>scamper</em> after anyone. Dick. There was me about to ask if you had time for a drink”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, alright then, there’s some rum in that bag” Scripps nods to the carrier bag of knick-knacks he’s brought round.</p><p> </p><p>“Now, that is a present!” Dakin opens the bottle and takes a sniff, it’s powerful but sweet and makes his head reel.</p><p> </p><p>“Wow” He grins as he pours them each a generous glass.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, it’s good. It’s been responsible for a few drunken nights over the past month”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, intoxication and sun, the makings of a perfect honeymoon. Go on then” He gives Scripps a nudge as he searches the cupboard for mixers.</p><p> </p><p>“Go on what?”</p><p> </p><p>“Show me the photos”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t think you’d be interested” Scripps smiles, already pulling out a thick paper wallet from his back pocket.</p><p> </p><p>“I am. If only to see some sunshine”</p><p> </p><p>The arrival of autumn blew in cold and grey practically as soon as his friends had left England and, since coming back from Paris, Dakin has barely seen the sky for clouds.</p><p> </p><p>He smiles wistfully as Scripps flicks through the pictures of him and Posner standing and smiling in front of different idyllic scenes. They get steadily browner as the album progresses but other than that the backgrounds are the only things that change. Posner’s arm is slung casually around Scripps’ shoulder, and they stand squinting into the camera with carefree grins plastered across their faces.</p><p> </p><p>Dakin doesn’t listen to Scripps’s explanations of where they are in each one, and what the friendly stranger who took the photo said to them, and how clear the water was. Instead he focuses on the tugging in his stomach that accompanies the almost primal knowledge that these two are meant to be – in the same way that he has a constant background awareness of gravity, he knows they’ll be together forever. Looking blankly at the interminable series of boring snaps he realises for the first time that he never felt that deep certainty when he was with Jess.</p><p> </p><p>He blames the rum for the sudden burning in his throat, and clears it to banish the tightness there.</p><p> </p><p>“So, what do I call you? Are you Mr Posner now? Or is it the other way around? Or did you double barrel? Or combine – perhaps you’re both Mr Poscripps”</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, sorry, I’m boring you. I can take a hint” He tucks the pictures away.</p><p> </p><p>“No, you’re not, honestly” Dakin lies.</p><p> </p><p>With a sigh, Scripps hands him the wodge of photos. “Come round for dinner tomorrow? We can catch up properly.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Once Scripps leaves he has another glance through the pictures while nursing a second glass of rum, spurred on by a note from Posner that he found on a postcard at the bottom of the bag.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>This gift is in no way intended to endorse your borderline alcoholism. Please drink it slowly.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He’s still unsure whether he’s pissed off or touched by the thought, when Irwin rings his doorbell.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m in demand tonight” Dakin steps aside to let him in.</p><p> </p><p>“Is this a bad time?” Irwin asks, uncharacteristically uncertain.</p><p> </p><p>After a few confusing minutes of empty pleasantries he spits out the reason for his visit, which is to ask Dakin along to some symphonic rock concert he booked months ago.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not in the mood to go by myself. I was supposed to go with Rob, it’s actually his birthday next week. It was going to be his present. His sort of thing, really.”</p><p> </p><p>“It sounds appalling”</p><p> </p><p>“Very probably”</p><p> </p><p>“Why don’t you ask Sound Boy?”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s not a <em>boy</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Well it’s a stupid job for a grown man”</p><p> </p><p>He isn’t quite sure why he’s suddenly in such a funk, but whatever it is, it isn’t helped by Irwin rolling his eyes at him.</p><p> </p><p>Feeling ungenerous, Dakin stares him out.</p><p> </p><p>Irwin drops his eyes to the floor.</p><p> </p><p>“It wasn’t working,” he reluctantly confesses.</p><p> </p><p>“Intriguing. What was the matter with him? Other than the daft job”</p><p> </p><p>He finds his mood lifting almost as fast as it came down as he continues to gently rib Irwin.</p><p> </p><p>“I assume you finally got to see him naked at least, was that the problem? What was it: hideous alien bursting out of his chest? Washing machine kisser? Tiny knob? Ooh, was he into something really kinky and weird? Wearing a saddle while you pissed on his face or something...”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin doesn’t raise his eyes from the floor, but he is laughing. “I just wasn’t feeling it. I think it was me – too soon or something”</p><p> </p><p>“At least you broke your seal”</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh, Stuart, really!”</p><p> </p><p>“You can ‘ew Stuart’ me as much as you want but you needed it”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmmm, I’m not sure it was worth it, I still have to see him at work”</p><p> </p><p>“So? Avoid him if it makes you awkward”</p><p> </p><p>“He has to pin a mic on me several times a day”</p><p> </p><p>“If you ended it, he probably welcomes the chance to cop a feel”</p><p> </p><p>“I just – it was a bit of harmless fun to flirt with the cute guy who has to touch me every day”</p><p> </p><p>“Not coming across as creepy there, at all”</p><p> </p><p>“He started it, I wasn’t letching,” He snaps. “But now it’s awkward and I’m not sure it lived up to the fantasy anyway”</p><p> </p><p>“That is the thing about fantasies, they don’t rely on other people”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin nods, considering it. “Very profound”</p><p> </p><p>“I should know” Dakin mutters sadly, before his brain can filter it. He bites his tongue in punishment and flicks his eyes to Irwin to gauge his reaction.</p><p> </p><p>Mercifully, Irwin doesn’t give any sign that he understands what he’s referring to. Dakin’s relief just about wins out over his disappointment.</p><p> </p><p>“Still,” He coughs “you won’t be filming for much longer, eh?</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I suppose” Irwin replies, glumly before making a visible effort to pull himself together. “So, tomorrow night?”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin sucks air through his teeth, wondering what to say. The concert sounds awful, but he’s more eager than he’d like to admit for the chance to hang out – the past month they’ve barely had a chance; but he’s been neglecting Pos and Scripps as it is and what with them only just arriving home... He hesitates for too long because Irwin looks away again, embarrassed.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve got plans, sorry. Stupid of me not to ask sooner. I just thought I’d see on the off chance, it seems a shame to waste the tickets”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m going to dinner with Posner and Scripps, but I can postpone”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t, please. It’s not their fault I’m disorganised. I suppose I could sell them on.”</p><p> </p><p>“Too much hassle. Send them to Rob”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin’s eyes boggle and Dakin grins.</p><p> </p><p>“Rip them up first, obviously”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin snorts a laugh, the sadness dropping from his face for the first time since he arrived.</p><p> </p><p>“You know what? I’ll do it, what’s the address?” He holds out is hand for the tickets.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you dare! I’m not coming off as some crazed stalker because of you”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re so easy to wind up!” Dakin laughs. “Stay for a drink? I have this rum from Mauritius.”</p><p> </p><p>“Can you stretch to a cup of tea?”</p><p> </p><p>Posner’s catty note swims in his memory. Dakin supposes he could probably do with half an evening’s break from booze. He makes a pot of tea and lights the fire against the creeping chill.</p><p> </p><p>“Still no word from Jessica?” Irwin asks once they’re settled together on the sofa.</p><p> </p><p>“No, I just need to move on. She told me she’s seeing someone else, we have no excuse to socialise and, based on what happened last time, it’s clearly not a good plan for us to hang out any more. Why should she call? I don’t expect her to. I’m not calling. I am moving on”</p><p> </p><p>“Very commendable.” Irwin frowns.</p><p> </p><p>Dakin can see he doesn’t believe a word of it and he’s about to insist when Irwin changes the subject.</p><p> </p><p>“Got any plans for Christmas?”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin wrinkles his nose. “That’s ages away”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s really not”</p><p> </p><p>And fuck it, but Dakin supposes he’s right if you’ve got plans to organise and presents to buy. Not for him though.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I’ve a standing invite to Pos and Scripps’, and Mum wants me to come home. I can’t decide which option is less appealing. I might just drink a bottle of vodka on Christmas Eve and hope I don’t regain consciousness until it’s all over”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah” Irwin sips his tea.</p><p> </p><p>“It sounds like you might have a fourth option?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, nothing. I was just going to watch kung fu movies in my pants and eat curry”</p><p> </p><p>“Mate, that’s fucking depressing. Have you not got a home to go to?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yep, and I’d rather drink bleach”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin sighs. “Alright, count me in, just put some trousers on before I arrive”</p><p> </p><p>“Spoil sport”</p><p> </p><p>“So go on then, truthfully. He was a crap shag right?”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin tries to look disapproving but he’s laughing too hard to carry it off properly.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which things start going well for Dakin again... wait, no that can't be right...?!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Putting 10 and 11 up together because I'm mean, but I'm not *that* mean...Or am I?</p><p>(10 is long and 11 is short because I wanted them to be one chapter but I suck at editing)</p><p> </p><p>(In the absence of normal life only being mean to these poor things and comments give me life XD )</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>Dakin’s first work trip of the new year is to Dubai, which isn’t bad going. It’s a long flight to only spend only five days there, especially when it he’s expected to work through his weekend, but it’s in sunshine and luxury so he hardly cares.</p><p> </p><p>It turns out that Irwin’s latest filming project overlaps. He will be abroad for an upcoming series for the next month, recording a segment on Pearl Harbour.</p><p> </p><p>Dakin’s first feeling when Irwin tells him about it at Christmas is that he will miss him. He shoves it aside, deciding that he’s met his quota on emotional confusion for the year.</p><p> </p><p>He’s glad when, on his first night in Dubai, Irwin rings him up to say he’s arrived in Hawaii.</p><p> </p><p>“Tell me all about it, then. I know you’re dying to”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin rolls his eyes but doesn’t correct him. “High class”</p><p> </p><p>“Vulgar, you mean” Irwin chuckles. “From what I’ve seen it attracts the very worst type of people”</p><p> </p><p>“Not really. Ok, there’s an aspect but it’s also just beautiful: the desert, the sea, the sun – there’s a lot to be said for it. I’m going to have a massage later, treat myself, then I’m off to the races for the evening. Not my kind of thing exactly, but the client’s taking me out, and it’s always nice to be spoilt. What’s Hawaii like?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s … different. I’d have much preferred Japan.”</p><p> </p><p>“Push for it as well” He mutters, half listening as he selects his outfit for the evening.</p><p> </p><p>Irwin laughs “We don’t have the budget for that. Anyway that isn’t the focus of this series”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah well, that’s what you get for working in the public sector” Dakin teases. “What’s wrong with Hawaii? I’ve never been”</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing’s wrong with it exactly, except the air conditioning being set somewhere around ‘arctic permafrost’” He gives an audible shiver.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s forty degrees here in the shade, I’m whacking the permafrost right up, it’s heavenly!” Dakin sighs, propping his bare feet up to the fan.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve seen three people with guns already and the American tourists are so <em>loud</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a different culture, get over it”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s the problem, there’s no ‘culture’ about any of them.”</p><p> </p><p>“God, would you get over yourself, you’re such a snob”</p><p> </p><p>“I have to wear sunglasses against the Hawaiian shirts” He continues.</p><p> </p><p>“I never thought I’d live to see <em>you</em> slagging off someone’s dress sense.”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin goes silent for a moment and Dakin wonders what he’s fiddling with, his glasses, perhaps, or the zip on his suitcase.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re right, it’s lovely. I’m just lonely, I suppose”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck me, you’re a miserable bastard. Nobody there who takes your fancy?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not <em>taking</em> it that’s the issue, I don’t have time to get to know anyone”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin laughs. “Jesus, you’re so romantic about the whole thing! Enjoy being free and single, and in paradise”</p><p> </p><p>“What about you?” Irwin asks, his voice ironic. “I expect you have some company lined up”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course. It’s the only way to travel! I don’t need telling to take advantage of my freedom. Mind you, gotta be careful here. Arab law and all that, although as long as you stay in Dubai itself basically anything goes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Except men”</p><p> </p><p>“I think I’ll cope” Dakin teases, hoping he doesn’t sound as flirty to Irwin as he does to his own ears.</p><p> </p><p>Irwin lets out a soft groan. “I think I’m just going to stay here forever, this mattress is like a cloud. Go on then, who is she?” He asks with a smile in his voice.</p><p> </p><p>“An air hostess I met in the lobby. I got some positive signals I think. We’re meeting for a drink later. I have a very full schedule.”</p><p> </p><p>“How come you’re talking to me then?”</p><p> </p><p>“Somebody’s got to look out for you, haven’t they?”</p><p> </p><p>“If I were you I’d enjoy the drink instead”</p><p> </p><p>“No you wouldn’t, you’d hide in your room and be lonely.” Having said that, Dakin rings off soon afterwards.</p><p> </p><p>He wonders when he became the cheerful one in their depressed dynamic and makes a mental note to check on Irwin when he gets back.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When he returns to work a week later, he’s more positive and energised than he’s felt in months. Finally, he doesn’t feel like a bitter soon-to-be-divorcee, but is actually enjoying life again. He can’t remember the last time it felt good just being Stuart Dakin.</p><p> </p><p>Naturally, life picks this moment to derail itself yet again.</p><p> </p><p>He’s jetlagged and straight back to work, so he doesn’t have a chance to catch up with people and let them know he’s back.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a load of texts on his mobile and a few answer phone messages at home and at work. He deals with the work messages first and after his first day back collapses into bed without even pretending to care about the personal ones.</p><p> </p><p>It’s the weekend before he feels ready to tackle any sort of social life, and he begins by phoning Scripps for a chat.</p><p> </p><p>Scripps isn’t home but Posner takes the opportunity to slate him for not buying them a present from Dubai.</p><p> </p><p>“What is this, primary school? I’ll get you a rock out of the garden and you can throw at each other. How about that?”</p><p> </p><p>Posner makes an inarticulate sound of outrage. “Unfunny and racially insensitive”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah” He grumbles, “Nice talking to you too”</p><p> </p><p>There are texts from friends on his mobile, and an odd one from Jessica just asking if he can phone her when he gets back, but nothing really of interest. He’ll deal with it later.</p><p> </p><p>Irwin is still away and the charges will be extortionate, so he isn’t expecting anything from the answer phone. He can’t wait for him to return so that they can resume their usual midweek dinners and weekend drinks.</p><p> </p><p>He goes on a jog for the first time in months. He’s starting to think Posner has a point about the booze, between his more sedentary lifestyle, the drink and the fags he’s pretty unfit. It’s a shock to him, and he spends twenty minutes pinching his blossoming belly fat in the shower when he’s done.</p><p> </p><p>He rounds off the morning by throwing away all of his junk food and writing up an exercise schedule.</p><p> </p><p>The answer phone demands his attention after a lunch of poached mackerel and spinach that leaves him deeply unsatisfied.</p><p> </p><p>There are four messages from Jessica, all asking him to call back in a tight, worried voice. He’d forgotten all about the text, he’d assumed she was just being friendly, but from the sound of it he’s misjudged the situation.</p><p> </p><p>Worry, as well as hunger, gnaws in his stomach as he waits for her to pick up. There’s no answer the first couple of tries, so he takes a walk to the corner shop and gets a bag of crisps and a bounty bar – it’s horrible but it’s basically fruit, so he can justify it.</p><p> </p><p>He rings again when he returns and she picks up this time.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve been away. What can I do for you?” He asks, mentally praising himself for how ok he is and how far he’s come.</p><p> </p><p>“Stu, I really need to talk to you”</p><p> </p><p>“Ok” He smiles.</p><p> </p><p>“Not on the phone. Can you come round? Please?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sure, when suits?”</p><p> </p><p>“Now, tomorrow, whenever you’re free”</p><p> </p><p>He assumes she wants to talk about selling the flat or something. It’s too much for her salary alone, he doesn’t blame her being in a flap over it. He’s loath to give her the wrong impression by dashing over there like he’s still desperate to get back together, but he doesn’t have any excuse prepared so he reluctantly agrees to go round straight away.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Later, he will look back and wonder if perhaps this carefree attitude was for the best – in the same way that he’s heard being relaxed during a car crash can lessen the chance of injury.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t look pregnant, at least not in any way that he can tell, but there’s a grainy black and white image of a foetus in his hand all the same.</p><p> </p><p>“How long?”</p><p> </p><p>“Three months, or a bit over. The time fits”</p><p> </p><p>“But…" He looks up from his seat on the sofa. "it might not be?”</p><p> </p><p>She sighs and pushes her hair back from her face in a gesture that’s almost forgotten and yet so familiar to him.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, it could equally not be”</p><p> </p><p>He stares back at it, amazed his hand isn’t trembling more than it is.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve decided I’m keeping it.”</p><p> </p><p>He looks up in surprise, honestly, the thought had never occurred to him that she might not want to.</p><p> </p><p>She shrugs. “I wanted to be sure before I told you, but this….Now I’ve seen it”</p><p> </p><p>She sits down beside him and takes the photo, a soft smile lighting up her face as she looks at it. He can’t remember the last time he saw her smile like that, even when they were together.</p><p> </p><p>“Does he know?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, not yet.”</p><p> </p><p>“When are you going to tell him?”</p><p> </p><p>She shrugs again. “I don’t know. Obviously if I know it’s his I will, but otherwise... I don’t need any more confusion”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t understand. If it’s a fifty-fifty thing…? More than that probably, we only did it once!”</p><p> </p><p>“It doesn’t matter. I know it’s a big ask, but I’ve got another scan in a month and I wondered if you would come with me”</p><p> </p><p>He stands, her voice rising as he walks to the other side of the room.</p><p> </p><p>“I get it, if you don’t want to, but it would mean a lot to me to have you there”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t –“</p><p> </p><p>He takes a deep breath and tries to collect his thoughts. It doesn’t work.</p><p> </p><p>“Why me? You’re with him now, for all we know it could be his baby. We’re over now. We did it once and –“</p><p> </p><p>He breaks off and rubs his forehead hard, hoping he’ll wake up in a moment to find this has been just another confusing bloody dream featuring his ex and one time love of his life.</p><p> </p><p>“Stuart”</p><p> </p><p>He jumps as she lays a hand on his shoulder, he never noticed her get up.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t leave you for him. I left you because our marriage wasn’t working anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>Looking down into her face, he sees her dark eyes shining with unshed tears.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s a guy that I’ve only been with for a few months, and yes, I like him a lot, but you and I have history. We’re friends, aren’t we?”</p><p> </p><p>Her voice cracks and she wraps her arms around herself.</p><p> </p><p>“At least we were”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah” He chokes out. “Yeah we’re friends”</p><p> </p><p>He folds her into a hug, laying his cheek on her silky hair. It feels so good to say it, to have finally reached this agreement, and he no longer feels the ghastly longing he did when he was stupid enough to go to bed with her.</p><p> </p><p>She sniffs, and turns her face away, pulling a crumpled tissue from her pocket to dab at her nose.</p><p> </p><p>“I know it’s a shitty position to put you in, but I figured if it turns out that it’s yours, then you’d prefer to know now rather than after it’s born”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” He croaks. “Yeah”</p><p> </p><p>They sit back down together on the cream sofa he remembers picking out, and talk about paternity tests and child support, and it’s all so fucking surreal.</p><p> </p><p>He nods at the sonograph, where it now rests on the coffee table in front of them. “It won’t hurt it, will it?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, it’s really simple, just a blood test or a swab maybe, I think”</p><p> </p><p>“And if it’s his?”</p><p> </p><p>She moves a few inches away from him, her body tensed as if for impact. “I sort of hope it is - don’t hate me. On the other hand, I’m scared. We’ve barely got together and this is so big.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s big either way, Jess: it’s not something you can keep a secret. It might make it easier”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re right, it’s just… I know you won’t abandon it if it’s yours”</p><p> </p><p>Tears drip down her face, smearing her mascara.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve fucked everything up” She whispers.</p><p> </p><p>He takes her hand and they sit together in silence.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Outside, he stands still on the pavement until his head stops spinning, forcing cold, damp air into his lungs, in the hope that the shock of it will restart his brain and everything will make sense. He wonders when the inside of his head became like an Esher painting.</p><p> </p><p>Inside his pocket his phone chirps. He checks it eagerly, some part of him hoping that it’s Jess telling him it’s all some insane practical joke. It isn’t, of course. It’s Irwin letting him know that he’s had to come home early because there’s a freak storm on the way to Hawaii.   </p><p> </p><p>Dakin smiles as he reads the text.        </p><p> </p><p>&lt;&lt;Tragically, you’re the only person I know worth notifying&gt;&gt;</p><p> </p><p>It’s the best news he could receive in the circumstances. Dakin presses the button to call him straight away.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which there is a warning for SexyTimes TM and some conversations about feelings (Dakin says the warning is for the wrong thing)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>“If it’s mine…” He muses, thinking aloud now he’s a few comforting pints in.</p><p> </p><p>He keeps his eyes forward, staring shell-shocked at the wall with its sepia toned photographs of the old high street. They’re at his local, it’s shit but Irwin forbade him from getting into the car. Dakin has to admit he was probably right.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s fucking horrible. Like, my life is ruined. I will literally never see my kid, it’ll grow up some twat I don’t know from Adam. It’ll look up to some fucking stranger as its father. Only, I’ll still have to see it, and try fruitlessly to forge a connection. It’ll be torture to know my own flesh and blood is a stranger to me”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin says nothing, just drinks, and watches over the rim of his glass.</p><p> </p><p>“But if it’s not mine…” He sinks his head into his hands with a sigh. “I don’t think I can bear that now I’ve got my hopes up. I’m already wondering what it’ll look like, and what she’ll call it, whether it’ll be good at rugby, or maths, or love The Great Escape as much as I do.”</p><p> </p><p>“Either way, you’ll manage” Irwin reaches across the table and lays his hand lightly on top of his.</p><p> </p><p>Dakin looks up and it’s as if he is seeing Irwin for the first time, with those large almond shaped eyes of his fixing him with a soft look of genuine sympathy, a hint of froth from the beer lingering on his thin upper lip. Dakin’s groin floods with warmth as he looks at his friend, pink cheeked from either embarrassment or alcohol. His sandy hair isnow starting to go silver at the temples but he is still, unmistakeably, the man Dakin was once in love with.</p><p> </p><p>He knows that now. He was hopelessly, head-over-heels in love, and now he isn’t sure he ever stopped.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, lets get you home” Irwin says, mistaking his dumb gaze for having had one too many. “It’ll look brighter in the morning”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin nods and allows himself to be supported by a friendly arm around the shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t leave me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course not”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin follows him inside, looking worried and before Dakin can chicken out, he steps in close and slides a hand around the back of his neck.</p><p> </p><p>“Um”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin doesn’t get any further because Dakin kisses him, open mouthed and hot and for a glorious moment Irwin is kissing him back before he steps back, putting his hands against Dakin’s chest to push him away.</p><p> </p><p>“I know you’re upset but this isn’t the answer”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up” Dakin growls, exasperated. “Shut <em>up</em>” and recaptures his lips.</p><p> </p><p>Judging from Irwin’s kisses, Dakin isn’t the only one who’s been keeping an old flame burning.</p><p> </p><p>Walking backwards to avoid having to let go of his mouth, he pulls Irwin to the bedroom. They lose their jackets on the way and, once in the bedroom Dakin wastes no time in undressing.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck me” He pants into Irwin’s mouth, as he attacks his buttons.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ll hate me tomorrow” Irwin gasps, although he doesn’t let up the rain of kisses on Dakin’s neck, or the hands roving across his back.</p><p> </p><p>“Bollocks I will”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re straight.” Irwin’s eyes are squeezed shut with regret “This isn’t the best plan”</p><p> </p><p>“Please?”</p><p> </p><p>They do it doggy style in front of the mirrored wardrobe. Irwin’s glasses remain in place throughout, he even has to nudge them back into place a few times, and the sight of that familiar gesture makes Dakin more turned on than he ever remembers being in his life.</p><p> </p><p>His own face is red, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead and he finds the image almost as arousing as he does the sight of Irwin pumping into him from behind.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>To Dakin’s disappointment, Irwin is unexpectedly distant afterwards. He tries to pull him back into his embrace but Irwin brushes him off, apparently desperate to leave both Dakin’s body and the bed.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you regret it?” He asks, not prepared to pull punches as Irwin gets up with the excuse of needing a shower.</p><p> </p><p>Grabbing the throw from the end of the bed he wraps it around himself like a skirt.</p><p> </p><p>“Honestly? A little, yeah”</p><p> </p><p>“Why?” Dakin props himself on his elbows and stares him down.</p><p> </p><p>Hands on his blanket-clad hips, Irwin shrugs. “I think it might ruin us.”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t know there was an ‘us’”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin colours. Immediately realising he’s said the wrong thing, Dakin rolls his eyes and changes tack.</p><p> </p><p>“Come here and stop talking shit would you?”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin perches stiffly on the edge of the mattress and rubs his forehead. “I was your friend and I’m now this rebound guy you decided to experiment with when you weren’t thinking straight and…”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not drunk”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin remains unconvinced.</p><p> </p><p>“And you’re not my first”</p><p> </p><p>That gets his attention. He whips his head around fast enough to pull something.</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“Look” Dakin breaks off to yawn. “Can we talk about this in the morning? For now, I’d just really like you to come back to bed and get some sleep with me”</p><p> </p><p>He pulls back the covers in invitation.</p><p> </p><p>Irwin closes his eyes, and nods once. He removes his glasses and Dakin feels a tingle run all the way down his spine.</p><p> </p><p>“Come here” He whispers, raising an arm in invitation.</p><p> </p><p>Suspiciously, as if Dakin might pounce and eat him up (although Dakin would be lying if he said the idea didn’t appeal), Irwin sheds his makeshift skirt and crawls into bed and Dakin spoons up behind him.</p><p> </p><p>Absently, he runs a hand along Irwin’s forearm and breathes deeply of the clean musky smell of him; an edge of soap underneath the tang of sweat, getting used to a man’s body beside him after so long. The skin under his hands is tougher and hairier than he’s used to. Softly, he bites the shoulder in front of his face. Irwin twitches at the sensation and Dakin kisses the skin there in apology.</p><p> </p><p>He can feel Irwin’s mind racing but he’s unable to keep his eyes open any longer and drifts straight into a contented sleep.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Irwin is up and dressed and waiting for him when he wakes. Dakin can’t help but feel sorry about this. It seems that now the dam is broken, the flood of feelings won’t stop and all he can think about is getting Irwin naked.</p><p> </p><p>“Can we talk about last night?” Irwin says in lieu of ‘good morning’</p><p> </p><p>Dakin’s smile dies on his lips and he nods.</p><p> </p><p>“Ok, just let me get have a shower and get dressed”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin takes a hitching, panicky breath and leaves the bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>Twenty minutes later, Dakin finds him sitting at the kitchen table, hands folded in front of him like it’s a job interview or a disciplinary hearing.</p><p> </p><p>“Coffee? Toast?”</p><p> </p><p>No answer.</p><p> </p><p>“Tom?”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin closes his eyes and shakes his head “I just want to sort this out”</p><p> </p><p>Talk about melodramatic.</p><p> </p><p>“Well I’m making some for myself so it’s no trouble…”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not hungry”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin shrugs. “Suit yourself, I’m <em>starving</em>” He adds in a waggle of the eyebrows for effect, but Irwin isn’t even looking at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine, toast then, thank you”</p><p> </p><p>“Tea or coffee?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not fussed”</p><p> </p><p>“Well I’m having coffee but if you want tea then –“</p><p> </p><p>“No, coffee is fine”</p><p> </p><p>He sits in silence, rigidly maintaining his ‘we need to have a serious talk’ pose while Dakin arranges cups, plates, milk, sugar, butter and preserves on a tray and carries everything over.</p><p> </p><p>He sits and Irwin takes a deep breath.</p><p> </p><p>If he didn’t know better Dakin would assume it was his first gay experience – he can’t deny himself a little bit of fun.</p><p> </p><p>He pours the coffee, not allowing Irwin the opportunity to fix it himself.</p><p> </p><p>“Milk? Sugar?”</p><p> </p><p>“Er thanks, a bit of milk”</p><p> </p><p>“Say when”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s fine. Thank you”</p><p> </p><p>“No sugar?”</p><p> </p><p>“One, please”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re welcome”</p><p> </p><p>“Jam and butter on the toast?”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s great”</p><p> </p><p>“Or would you prefer marmalade?”</p><p> </p><p>“Jam is fine”</p><p> </p><p>“Or I can do honey, ooh, I think I have some marmite somewhere” He jumps up and starts opening cupboards</p><p> </p><p>“Stuart, please! I want to talk to you”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin hadn’t thought it possible but he’s grown even more tense, practically seizing up and vibrating in the chair.</p><p> </p><p>He grins with amusement and sits down.</p><p> </p><p>“Go on then, no one’s stopping you”</p><p> </p><p>“You said you were straight” Irwin squeaks out.</p><p> </p><p>“I am. With a few exceptions. You’re my first bloke in ages, I swear.”</p><p> </p><p>“How long is ‘ages’?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why does it matter for fucks sake?” He takes a sip of coffee, starting to lose patience.</p><p> </p><p>“Because – “ Irwin stops and regains control of his voice. “Because it does, ok?”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin takes a deep breath and reminds himself that the silly twat is just trying to be chivalrous, no matter how bloody annoying it is.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know, ten years? Eleven.” He amends, remembering he got with Jess just after he hooked up with Ajay Singh in second year.</p><p> </p><p>Far from seeming calmer, Irwin’s breathing is still heavy with emotion.</p><p> </p><p>“Look, I don’t regret it, it wasn’t the drink, it wasn’t Jessica, and I don’t resent you for taking my manhood or whatever bollocks you’re afraid of, ok?”</p><p> </p><p>“Right, it was just a complete coincidence that it happened on the same night as you got this life changing news and had been drinking?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes. What’s the problem? If you don’t want to do it again, that’s fine, we don’t have to” He promises, even as his stomach sinks at the prospect.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, I…” Irwin shakes his head “you’re my friend and I took advantage, I gave in to base urges”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin has to retrain a burst of laughter.</p><p> </p><p>“Base urges? What is this: Howards End?”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin ploughs on as if he hasn’t heard. “ When I should have been comforting you. I feel like a – I <em>was</em> a total shit.”</p><p> </p><p>“Jesus, don’t beat yourself up much. I’m not your student any more, you know”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin blanches white. On second thoughts it might have been ill advised to bring that up.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m thirty-three, not sixteen, calm down, will you. I’m not even a gay virgin.”</p><p> </p><p>“Please stop.” Irwin closes his eyes. “I have… feelings for you, in case it’s not obvious.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not actually. I’m glad though”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin blinks his eyes open.</p><p> </p><p>“Me too, you idiot”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck” He breathes in an elated rush.</p><p> </p><p>“If you wanted me to control myself you should have been a bit less sweet.” Smiling he reaches across the table to rub Irwin’s arm. “Talk about a good friend. How could I not fall into your arms?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re teasing”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not! Ok, I am, but I mean it anyway. I don’t know what’s wrong with me that I didn’t see it before”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin bites his lip to contain his smile. “This is such a bad plan”</p><p> </p><p>“We don’t have to do anything, but here we are: I like you, you like me. We might as well”</p><p> </p><p>He grins cheekily and Irwin shakes his head in a way that says he’s already been sucked in.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Dakin is a bit of a plum</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>All aboard the angst train my pretties Xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>The week goes by in a blur of sex and smiles and holding hands in public. Dakin doesn’t tell anyone about it for the moment; he supposes he’ll have to at some point, but, for now, this thing between them – well, it’s between them: a cozy little cocoon where everything makes sense at last, and he wants to protect it from the outside world for as long as he can.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“So, is this a <em>thing</em>?” Irwin eventually asks him as they share their Sunday coffee in bed together, the newspaper picked apart and spread across the covers between them.</p><p> </p><p>“A ‘<em>thing</em>’?”</p><p> </p><p>“An official…” He twirls his hand about in midair as if it’s supposed to be some kind of clue “…<em>thing</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“A relationship?”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin folds the papers on his lap carefully. He takes his glasses off, polishes them on the sheet, replaces them and shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>“That, or a… a fuck buddy thing, an... actual official... <em>thing</em> of some kind? Or is it a fling? I’d just like to know”</p><p> </p><p>“I took it for granted it was a bit more serious than that”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin smiles, making lines appear around his eyes and Dakin feels back on solid ground again. He turns back to the article he was reading.</p><p> </p><p>“Is it an exclusive thing?”</p><p> </p><p>The smile has vanished. Dakin turns away to get his mug.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not really in the mood for signing another contract already, Tom. Can we just let this evolve naturally?" He gives Irwin's leg a rub through the covers.  "It’s good, right? Lets not pick it apart”</p><p> </p><p>Feeling uncomfortable with this turn in the morning, he glances down into his mug.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s cold. D’you want another?”</p><p> </p><p>Grabbing a robe and the coffee tray he leaves without an answer.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He hears Irwin come into the kitchen but doesn’t turn around, instead busying himself with the coffee.</p><p> </p><p>“No, actually”</p><p> </p><p>“Ok, tea? Or –“</p><p> </p><p>“I mean: no, that doesn’t work for me.”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin turns around to face him.</p><p> </p><p>He’s standing, rather comically with eyes downcast, dressed in his baggy boxers and socks, arms wrapped around himself, and shivering as the cold soaks upwards through the tiled floor.</p><p> </p><p>“I need to know where I stand. I’m not trying to trap you, I don’t mind if you’re not ready for a relationship, I can cope if this is just a bit of fun for you, but I need to know. I’m sorry you got fucked over, but so did I and I can’t go through the heartbreak again, not with you”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a large part of Dakin that wants to boil over in a rage because how dare he? He isn’t quite sure exactly what he’s daring to do, but it feels like there’s an accusation there somewhere and Dakin doesn’t appreciate it. The rational part of him teams up with the butterflies in his stomach and together they hold his temper in check, his mind racing angrily through the myriad ways that everything could unravel from here.</p><p> </p><p>Unable to articulate any of this, he simply stares.</p><p> </p><p>Irwin closes his eyes and seems to collapse inwards.</p><p> </p><p>“Look, it’s ok, it’s too much for you and I pushed. I’m sorry”</p><p> </p><p>Able to breathe again, Dakin busies himself with toast, already pushing the conversation out of his mind in favour of more pleasant thoughts. As he carries his breakfast to the table, his eye is caught by Irwin lingering in the doorway once more, fully dressed this time, with his coat hung over his arm.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m going to go home”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin frowns. “I thought you wanted to go to the British Museum?”</p><p> </p><p>“I need some space, Stuart. Take all the time you need”</p><p> </p><p>And just like that, he’s gone and Dakin is left standing in the ruins of his perfect Sunday, still clutching the coffee pot.</p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t take long for confusion to give way to anger and he’s out jogging, pounding his frustration into the pavement in place of breakfast.</p><p> </p><p>His good time does little to improve his mood so he makes a plan. He books two tickets to the Globe for that evening and heads into central London in search of American tourists; a much maligned group of people who have helped him through his reluctant singledom.</p><p> </p><p>He mooches around a few tourist spots and it doesn’t take him long to meet someone who fulfils the necessary criteria of being both attractive and interesting. He’s inside the National Portrait Gallery at the time. She notices him first, while they’re both standing looking at painting of Virginia Woolf.</p><p> </p><p>This girl isn’t from America, but Portugal, but after a few minutes thought he reckons it’s far enough away that they’re not going to bump into each other again. His ego would like to believe he’s such a good shag that he’s worth tracking down, but he accepts that it’s unlikely from nearly a thousand miles away.</p><p> </p><p>She strikes up a conversation about the painting, and flirts with him as she asks questions about the subject, then the one beside it and they team up to browse the gallery together.</p><p> </p><p>Her name, he discovers, is Gabriele. She’s an art student and only in the UK for a week with some mates under the excuse of studying. Like all art students she’s stylish yet uniquely dressed. With very little persuasion she ditches her friends in favour of visiting Somerset House and getting something to eat with him.</p><p> </p><p>She’s twenty-three, which makes him feel tragic, but she’s interesting and engaging and they get on, and he feels a more than a little proud that he’s still got the ability to pull women as young and attractive as she is.</p><p> </p><p>She wrinkles her nose when he mentions his Shakespeare plans, and makes the excuse of her English not being good enough to appreciate it. As far as he can tell from their conversation it’s perfect, but he takes the hint.</p><p> </p><p>They’re sitting on the terrace overlooking the river when she runs a foot up the inside of his calf, smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the movement of her trailing hand drawing his eye down the length of her neck.</p><p> </p><p>She leans back in her seat and toys with a pendant that is settled in the V of her neckline.</p><p> </p><p>“My hotel isn’t far”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Some more of Dakin's Sunday</p><p> </p><p>Warning for SexyTimes TM</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I read all your comments (all of them brightened my day) I feel like the best way of answering them is just to post the next part. (you're all gorgeous xx)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>He doesn’t have condoms, but she does and as she straddles him on the bed he gets the feeling that art isn’t the only thing she came on holiday for - not that it matters. She pulls off her dress to reveal a matching black lacy bra and pants, and he stops thinking all together.</p><p> </p><p>Guilt twists unexpectedly in his gut when she starts to suck a love bite into the skin at the base of his neck, and he pulls away.</p><p> </p><p>“You married?” She gasps.</p><p> </p><p>He shrugs, because technically it isn’t a lie, and it’s easier than the fucking truth.</p><p> </p><p>Her white teeth catch the plump, dark-cherry flesh of her lip and he growls and grinds his hips against her.</p><p> </p><p>“Naughty” She smiles, evidently not turned off by the lack of a denial, and lowers her mouth to his chest.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The sex is …disappointing. She’s gorgeous and a bit kinky and they have chemistry and it is deeply frustrating because it should be prefect.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The skin of her waist and breasts is soft under his hands, and her long hair gives off a subtle jasmine perfume. She’s loud, and her moans as she rides him are high pitched and shameless.</p><p> </p><p>She likes it rough, biting at his lips and raking long red nails across his chest and back, just shy of being hard enough to mark his skin; he appreciates her consideration and tries to let go and enjoy himself, focusing on the feel of her above and around him.</p><p> </p><p>When he looks into her face he falters, her brown eyes and full lips are gorgeous but, striking as she is, it feels wrong. He squeezes his eyes closed so he can finish.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Once they’re done he’s awkward and embarrassed, which isn’t a feeling he’s used to. He declines her offer of a smoke in favour of getting dressed straight away.</p><p> </p><p>The only thing her can think of to say is ‘Enjoy your holiday’, which is ridiculous.</p><p> </p><p>She looks under her eyelashes at him and blows smoke over her naked shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks”</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t ask for his number and he’s grateful.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When he gets home, he heads straight for the bathroom, shedding his clothes on the way.</p><p> </p><p>The dark red lipstick marks are marks of shame on his body, and as he soaps them off he feels emotionally as well as physically cleaner, emerging from his shower guiltless and focused.</p><p> </p><p><em>Baptism</em> he thinks, which reminds him to call Scripps. Not now though, right now he’s got things to do.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Irwin blinks at him in a way that manages to be both mocking and appreciative.</p><p> </p><p>Dakin straightens his tie and adjusts the bunch of tulips in his hand.</p><p> </p><p>“You really have been heterosexual for a while, haven’t you?” He shakes his head but smiles as he accepts them anyway.</p><p> </p><p>“You’d better come in”</p><p> </p><p>“I had to bring something” He wipes his feet and follows Irwin in the kitchen where he busies himself finding a vase.</p><p> </p><p>“Alcohol would be more practical” He mutters, running the tap.</p><p> </p><p>“Not really in keeping with the gesture though”</p><p> </p><p>“And may I ask what the point of it is?”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin shrugs. “Partly an apology, partly a peace offering”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah”</p><p> </p><p>He dumps them in the vase, wrapper and all – Jessica would certainly be horrified.</p><p> </p><p>“Well thank you. I accept both”</p><p> </p><p>“I was thinking about what you said this morning”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin folds his arms and leans back against the cabinets.</p><p> </p><p>“You know what, forget it, I’m not ready – I’m still too fragile. I’m sorry I pushed you”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin sucks air in through his teeth and blows it out again slowly, unable to look Irwin in the eye.</p><p> </p><p>“Right, only I think I might be. Ready. If you wanted to. On balance, I don’t think committing to a relationship with you would be so awful”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin snorts a sheepish chuckle. “Well, this is awkward”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry. Do you want me to go?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not really. That was all crap to make myself feel better”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin laughs with relief.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Your bed is way too small” Dakin mumbles, his cheek pressed against the damp skin of Tom’s chest.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s plenty of room on the mattress, you know. You don’t have to lie on top of me”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin stretches but doesn’t move from where he’s sprawled out on his front like a blanket over Irwin’s body.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll buy you a king size.”</p><p> </p><p>“I have my own money, I can buy my own bed. Or could, if I needed one, which I don’t”</p><p> </p><p>Wincing at the pins and needles in his arm and leg, Irwin manages to slide free, and turns over.</p><p> </p><p>Dakin follows, resting his chin on Irwin’s shoulder while his hand roams lazily across his body, exploring the skin of his back.</p><p> </p><p>“Double beds are for twenty year olds" He drops a kiss onto the shoulder underneath his face. "Did you and Sound Boy ever do it here?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ed”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“His name’s Ed” Irwin mumbles into the pillow.</p><p> </p><p>“Answer the question”</p><p> </p><p>“Once or twice” He yawns.</p><p> </p><p>“Definitely need a new one, then” Dakin grimaces, half teasing.</p><p>           </p><p>“Territorial twat. Haven’t you got work tomorrow?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m going to phone in sick”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I’m going in, so I don’t know what you’ll be doing”</p><p> </p><p>“Boring. I suppose I’d better head home, then”</p><p> </p><p>“Come round for dinner?”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin smiles and begins extricating himself from the tangle of limbs and bedding.</p><p> </p><p>“Bring a change of clothes”</p><p> </p><p>“Fucking tease” He flops back onto Tom, kissing him until, whimpering in sleepy protest, he raises a hand to push him away.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m serious, I have a voiceover to do in the morning. Lots of time to make up for because of the fucking storm”</p><p> </p><p>“What storm?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m supposed to be in Hawaii, remember?”</p><p> </p><p>“I forgot. Instead you’re trapped here with me”</p><p> </p><p>“Mm, horrible” Irwin smiles against his lips.</p><p> </p><p>Dakin sighs and crawls reluctantly off the bed. He dresses while watching Irwin drift off to sleep in front of him. On the way out, he makes sure to switch the bedroom light off, and creeps down the stairs in his socks.</p><p> </p><p>Downstairs, his eye is caught by the roughly displayed vase of tulips. Next time he’ll bring a bottle of vodka.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Scripps is brought up to speed.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Not feeling great, so only a wee chapter, I'm afraid.</p><p> </p><p>I loved writing righteously angry Scripps, I hope you enjoy reading him xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Monday sees Dakin stumbling, exhausted through his workday. By the time he’d got home the previous night it was barely worth him going to bed. He’s very much looking forward to spending the night at Irwin’s - he just hopes he’ll be up for something more than sleep when he gets there.</p><p> </p><p>In the break room amid colleagues milling around getting coffee a handful of people ask if he’s feeling unwell and he makes an off the cuff joke about man flu. </p><p> </p><p>One of the women in accounts brings him a box of tissues and a packet of lemsip at lunch.</p><p> </p><p>“My mum’s a nurse” She offers, with a sympathetic smile.</p><p> </p><p>He can’t help but think she’s doing the nursing profession a disservice by assuming that over the counter remedies qualify as special knowledge, but he smiles back ploitely and thanks her, racking his brains for her name – April, perhaps, although he’s not stupid enough to risk getting it wrong. In the end he plays it safe with 'love'.</p><p> </p><p>“I hope you feel better soon” She flutters her eyelashes and smiles at him.</p><p> </p><p>He accepts her offering with as much charm as he can muster while feeling like a complete prick. In his defence, he can hardly tell come out and say that he lied because he spent most of his Sunday shagging and, subsequently, didn’t get into his own bed until four that morning. Perhaps he ought to have stuck with ‘tired’ as his excuse.</p><p> </p><p>For some reason this reminds him he still has to call Scripps.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It will likely be a long phone call so he waits until he’s finished for the day before locking his door and picking up his office phone. His heart sinks at the prospect of what he’s going to say, but he can hardly neglect his friend any longer.</p><p> </p><p>As he dials he decides to start out light with chit-chat.</p><p> </p><p>“Dakin, I thought you were dead.” There’s a genuine note of worry under the joke and Dakin’s feeling guilty before he’s even begun.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry”</p><p> </p><p>“What have you been up to?”</p><p> </p><p>Trust Scripps to ruin his plan and weigh in with a loaded question before they even have the pleasantries out of the way.</p><p> </p><p>Fuck it, Dakin thinks, and jumps in with both feet.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m shagging Irwin”</p><p> </p><p>Somewhat to Dakin's surprise, Scripps takes this in his stride.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Quelle surprise</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“I can hear you rolling your eyes, don’t”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a reflex, I can’t help it”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s something else”</p><p> </p><p>“What? Are you alright?”</p><p> </p><p>“Um, yeah, I think so. It’s Jess, she’s pregnant”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, mate. I’m so sorry.” He sounds it too.</p><p> </p><p>“It might be mine”</p><p> </p><p>There’s silence. It goes on for so long Dakin wonders if they’ve been disconnected.</p><p> </p><p>“Scripps? Did you hear what I said?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, sorry. Wow. I suppose we haven’t seen her in ages. Did you know when you split up? I know you were taking it hard, I never realised…Fuck”</p><p> </p><p>“She’s only three months gone”</p><p> </p><p>Silence again.</p><p> </p><p>“Scripps?”</p><p> </p><p>When he speaks again the sympathy in his voice is gone, replaced with exasperation.</p><p> </p><p>“You know what? it’s your life, I’ve no right to be angry with you”</p><p> </p><p>“Why would you be angry?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why? You’re the one who’s been banging on about wanting to move forward – when you’re not wallowing in a puddle of alcohol, that is - and, instead, you’re fixating on a teenage crush and shagging your ex! You’re the one bringing a cloud of misery everywhere you go and insisting no one understands. I’ve lost friends over this, Dakin, Jess not least among them, she was my friend too in case you’ve forgotten”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t ask you to stop talking to her”</p><p> </p><p>“No, but we both know you’d have been hurt if I didn’t!”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I do apologise that her breaking my heart has had such a devastating effect on your social life.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, don’t talk shit. David and I have been worried sick about you. We were worrying about you on our honeymoon”</p><p> </p><p>“For God’s sake, that’s just ridiculous”</p><p> </p><p>“Exactly, I don’t know why we bother”</p><p> </p><p>“I notice you aren’t angry at her, it takes two people, you know?”</p><p> </p><p>“You are so bloody self absorbed. I’ve been angry at her for months. She was one of my dearest friends and I’m so angry at her for hurting you that I haven’t spoken to her since you split up” He blows out a deep breath. “You know what, come round this evening and we’ll talk about this properly.”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin winces. “Can’t. I’m meeting Irwin”</p><p> </p><p>“Right. I forgot about him” He doesn’t sound any less pissed off. “Have you told him?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I thought I’d leave it as a surprise”</p><p> </p><p>“Wouldn’t be the dumbest thing you’ve done in the past three months. Have you?”</p><p> </p><p>“For fuck’s sake, of course. I told him when I first found out” He knows he’s said the wrong thing as soon as the words leave his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>“And that was when?” Scripps’s voice is cold with hurt.</p><p> </p><p>“Not that long ago” He hedges.</p><p> </p><p>“Right. Jess may have done wrong by you once but she isn’t a bad person and if she thought you were the father of her child – You bastard, you’ve known for months, haven’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>“No! Look, Scrippsy, I should have told you. I just needed some space to get my head around things”</p><p> </p><p>“With Irwin” It isn’t a question.</p><p> </p><p>Dakin winces. “She told me the week before last and everything’s been muddled, but you’re right. About everything. I’ll come round tomorrow, ok?”</p><p> </p><p>Scripps lets him go with dark mutterings about 'having a talk', and Dakin tries to put their conversation out of his head and focus on his evening. It's with a lingering cloud of hurt and worry hanging over him, however, that he locks up and drives over to Tom's place.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Dakin recieves some parental advice.</p><p>(Not from his biological parents, but the useful, adoptive ones)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another short one from me today. The updates are going to slow down from today because from here on in I'm writing, as opposed to just editing and adding. </p><p>(but the end is written so the last couple of chapters will see it speed up again XD Just gotta do the pesky middle bits)</p><p>I hope you are all safe and well and enjoying lovely weather wherever you are Xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Scripps is beyond unimpressed.</p><p> </p><p>He shows Dakin into the living room, and exchanges a look with Posner that tells Dakin that this is all prearranged between them.</p><p> </p><p>“Excuse me while I put the finishing touches on dinner”</p><p> </p><p>Posner takes Dakin’s offered bottle of wine and disappears into the kitchen. Once he's gone and it's just the two of them, Scripps shuts the door.</p><p> </p><p>Dakin feels like an errant teenager as he is sat in an armchair and lectured about playing with people’s emotions, safe sex, and taking responsibility.</p><p> </p><p>"Scrippsy, I know I should have spoken to you about it, I didn't mean to keep it from you."</p><p> </p><p>“Is that what you think this is about? You selfish dick, it has nothing to do with that. I know we're friends, Dakin, you don't need to prove it. What I do want is for you to stop making stupid decisions and hurting people around you. Now, you need to sort yourself out and grow up, and whatever happens, you’re going to pay for this kid, and make sure Jess is alright, ok?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course. Wait, no, hang on. I’m all for the father paying his way, but if it’s this other guy… I think it should be him” He finishes weakly under Scripps’ fierce gaze.</p><p> </p><p>“We don’t know anything about this man. What if he wants nothing to do with it? Did you even think about that? What if he wants nothing more to do with her after he finds out she cheated on him with you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Then that's sad, but -"</p><p> </p><p>“But what? You’re going to breathe a sigh of relief and leave your friend, to whom you’re technically still married, as a single mother with no help at all?”</p><p> </p><p>“I think you’re jumping to conclusions about this man. I trust Jess’s judgement here”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh yes, the woman who slept with her ex-husband months after kicking him out and took no precautions at all! The same woman who did this right at the same time as starting a relationship with someone new. I’m sure she’s making all the best decisions here.”</p><p> </p><p>Scripps folds his arms and glares down at Dakin, his eyes fierce behind his heavy-rimmed reading glasses. </p><p> </p><p>Dakin sighs and rubs a hand over his sweating forehead. “I just mean-“</p><p> </p><p>“No. No more ‘buts’, no ‘just’s. You did the deed, it could just have easily have been you, and you’re going to take responsibility”</p><p> </p><p>“She does have a job” He tries to protest, his voice small.</p><p> </p><p>“And now a baby. What do you expect her to do? Breastfeed in court?”</p><p> </p><p>“She’s not a barrister, she doesn’t go to court.”</p><p> </p><p>Even as he argues, Dakin can feel his grip on the situation slipping away. In a way it's a relief.</p><p> </p><p>“You listen here," Scripps jabs his finger towards Dakin as he speaks, punctuating every point. "You’re going to make sure she can pay the mortgage on that obscene flat, or else you’re going to help her out with money if she wants to move. That’s non-negotiable”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin swallows and nods.</p><p> </p><p>“And I hope you’ve learned your bloody lesson from this, what with the way you put it about”</p><p> </p><p>“Hey! I normally use protection, but… It was Jess, I didn’t think about it. She’s always been on the pill!”</p><p> </p><p>Scripps shakes his head in disgust or disbelief - Dakin hopes the latter.</p><p> </p><p>“Anyway, I’ve stopped putting it about. I’m with Irwin now”</p><p> </p><p>“’With’ Irwin? On the phone you said you were shagging him”</p><p> </p><p>“I am shagging him. I’m also with him”</p><p> </p><p>“Since when?”</p><p> </p><p>“Sunday?”</p><p> </p><p>“Give me strength." He addresses his living room ceiling, briefly. If he were feeling more confident, Dakin would point out that God probably doesn't live in the upstairs office above.</p><p> </p><p>"Why are you complicating things?” Scripps sighs.</p><p> </p><p>Dakin hopes his face conveys the required <em>what the fuck</em>ery. “Because I like him”</p><p> </p><p>“And if this baby is yours, you think he’ll make a good father to your child, do you?”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin shrugs. “I hadn’t thought about it, we’ve been together for two days”</p><p> </p><p>“Well you need to think about it. Everything you do now, you need to think about this child”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s your problem with him anyway? He’s not a bad guy, it's not like he poses a threat to it. Besides, it’s going to be a baby for fuck’s sake, it’s hardly going to have opinions on who I’m dating”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t have a problem with him, Stu”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin folds his arms and raises an eyebrow in challenge. “Oh really?”</p><p> </p><p>“Really. Not like that, anyway, you like him so: fine, it’s none of my business, but you need to start thinking things through as a father. If this is some weird regression because you’re stressed, or upset about Jess, or going through some early midlife crisis then please just think about how it’s going to affect your kid… you know, assuming it is your kid”</p><p> </p><p>“If I promise you I really like him, will you stop talking?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m done anyway. Let’s go and see how Pos is getting on”</p><p> </p><p>And Christ, but Dakin doesn’t remember getting a bollocking like it in his life, he’s a little shaky now it’s over.</p><p> </p><p>Scripps pulls him in for a tight hug, and Dakin finds himself blinking back unexpected tears as Scripps briskly rubs his back and murmurs in his ear that it’s ok, that he and Pos will always be there for him, no matter what stupid shit he gets himself into.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Posner serves water with the dinner and when he mentions the bottle he brought Dakin is subjected to yet another lecture.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re driving home” Pos scolds, sitting back in his seat opposite.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m allowed one or two”</p><p> </p><p>Pos shoots him a pity filled look at him. “Dakin, you do not have a good relationship with alcohol”</p><p> </p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p> </p><p>“You drink when you’re emotional and it has to stop”</p><p> </p><p>He blinks in surprise, wondering if this is how Jessica is feeling too, with everyone suddenly in her business.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I have a non-emotional drink with my dinner?”</p><p> </p><p>“No”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, is this a dinner party or an intervention?”</p><p> </p><p>Scripps sets down his cutlery. “You can have half a glass”</p><p> </p><p>He fetches the wine and Posner glares at him. Obviously, this is something else that was pre-discussed and Scripps has buckled.</p><p> </p><p>If Scripps is the good cop in this situation, Dakin dreads to imagine what being left alone for a talk with Posner would be like.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Dakin has a hospital appointment to attend</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For some reason this chapter has been a bitch to write. I'm still not happy with it really but I'm shoving it out of the nest now and it can bloody well fly, because I'm not tinkering with it forever.</p>
<p>(also my google now definitely thinks I'm pregnant with a baby of dubious paternity XD)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The morning of the scan Dakin feels like he’s going to throw up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s had it booked off and circled in red ink on the calendar for a fortnight – ever since Jess confirmed it, but, all the same, he feels caught off guard.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He takes his time getting ready - for whose benefit he has no idea, he just feels less vulnerable when he’s well dressed and groomed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Emerging from the bathroom in a scented cloud he gives Irwin a slow turn that’s mostly ironic.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How do I look?” He asks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Knackered. Did you sleep at all last night?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not really, I didn’t wake you did I?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Irwin shakes his head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Honestly, I’m pretty nervous too. Shall I put some toast on for you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, I don’t think I could keep it down”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Will you be alright?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He forces a smile. “Of course”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m just the other end of the phone, remember”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Irwin kisses him goodbye and Dakin wishes he could stay safe and enveloped in his arms all day. He’s glad that he stayed over – he’d quite like him to come along and wait in the car if he’s honest, but he can’t think of a way for it not to sound tragic, so he puts on a brave face and peels himself reluctantly away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He and Jessica have arranged to meet at her chosen hospital. He’s never been there before and it’s difficult to find, tucked away at the end of a tree lined driveway. Inside, it’s small and private and scrupulously clean. It oozes exclusivity, and is mercifully unmedical looking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She greets him in the waiting room with a kiss on the cheek and tells him he smells nice. She looks rather more pregnant now, a little bump just starting to emerge through her clothes. He notices as he takes a seat beside her that she’s put her wedding ring back on. He hasn’t worn his since he moved out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He takes her left hand briefly and thumbs it in an unspoken question.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“To lend me a veneer of respectability” she shrugs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hadn’t even thought about that – it mustn’t be nice having to face accusing stares from busybodies. He wonders if she told everyone at work they’d decided to split before announcing her pregnancy. He supposes she must have done if she’s started dating again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Jess, I think I need to know, I don’t think I’m strong enough to not know for nine months”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Five.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Five months. You’re supposed to be good at figures”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Jess, I –. “ He stops talking for a bit, fidgeting as he waits.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you think they can tell?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t know, Stu” She snaps “You’ll have to ask. But I’m not doing anything that will hurt my baby, understand?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He swallows and nods.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Right now, as far as I’m concerned you’re just here for support, so can we stop talking about you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, ok. Sorry, yeah.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He concentrates on taking deep breaths, and reminds himself she deserves that. He wonders if she’s spoken to Scripps lately.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s another surreal moment as the nurse calls them in as “Mr and Mrs Dakin” as though they’re a unit. It seems crazy now, to think that they once came in a package like that - one entity instead of two.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He sits in the corner, trying not to listen as Jess discusses her pregnancy, feeling like he’s invading her privacy somehow by being there, overhearing her answer questions about her bladder and her back and her boobs. The nurse must think he’s a right arsehole, because he just sits and stares blankly when she mentions with a would-be-conspiratorial-wink that Jess might get someone to rub her legs, or her back of an evening, and realises far to late to redeem it that she means him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eventually comes the moment. Jess jokes about having put on weight since the last time he saw her as she heaves herself up on the bed and rolls up her top.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Unclothed, her stomach does look very pregnant. He takes her outstretched hand and peers eagerly at the bulky screen. There’s nothing for a while, just black and white and grey static swirling and then the nurse holds her probe still and there it is. A bulbous alien head. Dakin’s breath catches in his throat, and Jess gives his hand a squeeze.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The nurse talks a lot but he doesn’t take in much beyond the words ‘healthy’, and ‘no concerns’.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you want to know the sex?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jess answers at once. “Yes, please”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t consider it to be his decision, but the nurse asks for confirmation that he’s ok with knowing before she’ll tell them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s a boy”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She lets out a small happy sob, he had no idea she had a preference. Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe, like him, she just feels that little bit closer to their – no - to her unborn baby.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once Jess has cleaned her stomach of goo and got off the couch, the nurse - or maybe actually she’s the doctor, now he thinks about it - asks them if they have any questions.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is there any way of testing whose baby it is… before it’s born?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The woman turns away from him and looks at Jess, mortification on her behalf clearly written on her face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We’re separated” She smiles and pats his arm by way of explanation. “I think we’d both like to know”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh. I see”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She recovers herself, only the smallest hint of shock remaining around her wide eyes, and talks them through their options, explaining that, in order to find out, Jess would have to spend half a day in hospital. She talks through the procedure of inserting a needle into the womb and Dakin has to put his head between his knees.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jess’s small hand is comforting on his back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stu, are you ok?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah I just need to step out for a bit”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stumbles into the waiting room and over to the water cooler. Holding the ice cold plastic cup to his head helps clear it, but brings with it the sense of being a failure – asking Jessica to go through with something he can’t even stand to hear about.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It doesn’t matter whose it is anyway, for Christ’s sake. Scripps was right: he needs to grow up and assume it’s his kid until proven otherwise, and if the other guy doesn’t want to do the same – well fuck him, Jess deserves better.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He doesn’t go back in, and she emerges after an interminable twenty mintues with a folded slip of paper and a tight-lipped expression.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m sorry” He says shakily, reaching out to lay a hand on her shoulder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t worry about it, I’ve decided I’m not doing it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know, it’s ok, it sounds awful”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He swallows thickly and apologises again, hoping she understands that he’d never expect her to go through something like that for his ego. He’s not sure she does, and it hurts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She looks into his face and laughs. “Stu, it’s just a needle”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Please. I’ll throw up”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She sighs and pushes her hair back, shaking the long waves out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m not doing it because there’s a risk of miscarriage”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh” He says feeling stupid.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s only very small, but it isn’t worth it for me,” She pulls a face of regret. “I’m sorry, I know you’re disappointed”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, it’s ok. I get it. I’ll transfer you some money for the mortgage and… baby… shit”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Come on,” She smiles, “you look like you need something to eat”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dakin gets the feeling he’s amusing her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He notices as he sips his over sugared, yet bitter coffee that her arm is bruised from a blood draw and feels ridiculous once again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I hope he’s braver than me” He jokes, his smile thin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But she laughs heartily, so maybe his contribution is being ludicrously squeamish.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(Dakin had a panic attack because I did when I researched it) (but google tells me you don't have to do that anymore so - I'm a font of knowledge now!)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The aftermath of the scan at chez Dakin</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well this was much more fun to write :) the next bit... possibly less so.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Irwin is still there when he gets back to the flat. Dakin’s surprised – he hadn’t expected him to wait around all day, but he’s never been more grateful to see anyone in his life.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re still here”</p><p> </p><p>Admittedly, as a greeting this doesn’t do much to convey his delight.</p><p> </p><p>Irwin shuffles his feet, awkwardly. “I hope you don’t mind, I thought you might want someone to talk to”</p><p> </p><p>In answer, Dakin leans forward and kisses him, shedding his jacket and the smell of hospital with it, without breaking the contact. He almost unbalances Tom as he presses into him, leaning all of his weight against his lighter body.</p><p> </p><p>Their mouths separate as Irwin stumbles, reaching for the wall to compensate for his weaker leg. Dakin catches him around the waist and for a split second he's worried in case Tom will be humiliated, but he grins in relief and thanks, and Dakin grins back.</p><p> </p><p>“How was it?” He asks, before Dakin can kiss him again.</p><p> </p><p>“Gross, embarrassing. I nearly passed out”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin snorts. “I mean, any news?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, it’s all normal, all good. It’s a boy”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” He nods to himself, “Oh.”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin wonders at how knowing this small bit of personal information seems to bring everybody that little bit closer to the baby. It’s strange, but nice.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t – I don’t care what it is, but – it’s nice to know something, it’s about the only information there is to know about a foetus, I suppose. Not much personality”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” Irwin grins, neatly sidestepping the elephant in the room. “I’ll make you a cuppa”</p><p> </p><p>He puts the kettle on and stands watching the steam form. Dakin’s noticed that this is a habit of his, as if the kettle can’t manage without supervision. It's cute, in a neurotic kind of way.</p><p> </p><p>“Actually” He sidles up behind him, insinuating arms around his waist. “I think I need something to relax me first”</p><p> </p><p>It’s a ridiculously cheesy line, but it’s true - he feels strung out and on edge and sex would help take the edge off. Irwin doesn’t seem to mind the line at all, and flicks the kettle off.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It’s good, but it doesn’t really help. Sprawled out side-by-side on the bed together, Dakin finds the stress returning remarkably quickly. He’d hoped that it would give him at least a couple of hours break away from the thoughts tearing through his brain. It’s unfair that his anxiety has a shorter refractory period than his dick.</p><p> </p><p>He can't be sure whether Irwin knows, or if he’s just perfect, but, either way, he rolls over to face him and thumbs away the tension in his brow. He’s made no mention of the baby and its paternity, but Dakin can see it clear as day on his face that he’s desperate to know. He takes pity and fills him in.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sort of assuming that it’s mine, and also that it isn’t – I’m trying to just assume it’s mine, but my head isn’t convinced”</p><p> </p><p>“Shrodinger’s baby”</p><p> </p><p>“Quite. Either way, as Scripps pointed out, Jessica is still a woman who I admire deeply. I owe a lot to her, and whether it's mine or not, I’ve got her into some shit. I can be there for her as a friend, regardless.” Dakin slurs, struggling to keep his eyes open as he succumbs to the soothing facial massage.</p><p> </p><p>“It isn’t all on you. She has to take half the responsibility, you know” He murmurs, the back of his hand trailing gently down the side of Dakin’s face.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s what I said! Still, I suppose she has to live with it whatever happens, and I don’t”</p><p> </p><p>“Does it bother you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Being an absent father before I’ve even got kids? Of course it fucking bothers me”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin smiles and pets his arm. “You’re a nice man”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks for nothing” Dakin snaps, reaching for a cigarette. He doesn’t offer them.</p><p> </p><p>The lighter refuses to spark under his slippery thumb.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean it” Irwin shrugs, rolling back over and propping his hands behind his head.</p><p> </p><p>The lighter continues to click fruitlessly and he flings it away, the unlit cigarette hanging useless in his fingers.</p><p> </p><p>“So do I. I don’t want to be a nice man. A nice, pathetic man who calls around once a week for an awkward tea with the kids at their mum’s house, making <em>nice</em>, awkward conversation about homework. <em>A nice man</em> who takes the kids to the zoo once a month, with his <em>nice</em> boyfriend. A <em>nice</em> man who listens to their stories about Mummy’s new, better man.”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin interjects here with a sardonically raised eyebrow. “Interesting use of the plural, there. You’re planning on doing this again, then?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, fuck off”</p><p> </p><p>“Fine” Irwin sits up with a sigh. “I ought to be heading home anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, Tom wait”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s time I went back, my plants need watering”</p><p> </p><p>He lets out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re blowing me off to water plants?”</p><p> </p><p>“They’re less needy. Ironic, because they do actually need me”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t mean it.” Dakin follows him, wrapping himself over his back and clinging on - a cross between a blanket and an immature gibbon. “I’m sorry”</p><p> </p><p>“Stay?” He pleads, kissing Tom’s shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure you want me to?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, I’m sure. Please?”</p><p> </p><p>“OK” Tom sighs, but he gets up and pulls his clothes on.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll get you that cuppa”</p><p> </p><p>He disappears with a tight smile.</p><p> </p><p>Unsure exactly what it is he’s done wrong, but fairly certain it’s something big, Dakin shrugs on a t-shirt and boxers and follows him through to the kitchen.</p><p> </p><p>Irwin is rummaging though the cupboards for mugs, which strikes him as amusing. He would have thought he’d be familiar with the place by now, but then they mostly hang out at Tom’s, or drink something stronger than tea when they’re here, now he thinks about it.</p><p> </p><p>He fetches a couple of the plain white mugs that are so unlike Irwin’s own mismatched Emma Bridgewaters, or Scripps’ and Posner’s bright, hand-painted cat designs, and plonks them on the counter, pressing a kiss to the side of Irwin’s head as he does so.</p><p> </p><p>Stomach growling, he opens the fridge and stares into it. There’s not much for dinner: cheese and an open bottle of wine, very French. The thought of going out so soon doesn’t appeal, so a curry it is. He mooches around, idly looking for the takeaway menus he’s sure he has stashed somewhere. Irwin’s back is to him, watching the kettle again.</p><p> </p><p>“Posner thinks I’m an alcoholic” Dakin says, mostly to break the silence.</p><p> </p><p>He catches a small movement of Irwin’s shoulders, and finds himself hoping he’s coaxed a laugh out of him.</p><p> </p><p>“You obviously don’t agree” Irwin smirks at the kettle.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a bit dramatic. Besides, you drink as much as me, and you don’t have a problem”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I drink as often as you”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s the difference?”</p><p> </p><p>“Quantity, mainly”</p><p> </p><p>Locating the menu for the curry house he slides it across the marble countertop to Irwin.</p><p> </p><p>“Pick something” He demands and flops into a chair.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a largish stuffed giraffe on the kitchen table in front of him, he can’t think how he’s only just noticing it now. A brown glass eye stares at him from underneath feathery plush lashes. He picks it up. It’s unbelievably soft.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s this?”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin turns to face him and shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>“For the baby?”</p><p> </p><p>“Cute as you are, it’s not for you” He turns around again in time to oversee the kettle as it reaches the boil.</p><p> </p><p>Dakin blinks and swallows against the tight feeling in his throat, clasping the giraffe to his chest.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s great. Thank you”</p><p> </p><p>“No need. I told you, it’s not for you”</p><p> </p><p>“Jess will be right chuffed.”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin smiles, carrying the tea over and takes a seat opposite.</p><p> </p><p>“Move in with me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p> </p><p>“You heard. Move in with me, or let me move in with you. I don’t care which”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin frowns at him. “Because I bought a giraffe for your estranged wife?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, because I… “ He takes a breath, screws up his courage, and chickens out. “I want to live with you”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin’s eyes dart away from his, and he picks up the menu, frowning at it for a moment.</p><p> </p><p>“I will have the beef madras, and…I’ll think about it”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dakin and Jess have another chat...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We all rested and refulled and ready to get back on the angst train? Good. </p><p> </p><p>(brief mentions of SexyTimes TM but no actual SexyTimes TM)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>Irwin is still ‘thinking about it’ when Dakin gets another call from Jessica.</p><p> </p><p>His heart leaps into his mouth when he hears her voice – their conversations never end up going anywhere good these days.</p><p> </p><p>“Stu, I’ve got some news”</p><p> </p><p>His stomach performs a number of manoeuvres in quick succession. He knows instantly from her tone what it is she’s telling him, but he asks for confirmation anyway.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s mine, isn’t it?”</p><p> </p><p>She sniffles, it sounds as if she’s crying.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes” She croaks, and there’s a definite sob.</p><p> </p><p>He stands frozen, not knowing what to do or say.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey…” He tries, when it doesn’t seem like she’s going to cheer up any time soon.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, I’m just emotional. Can I come round on Saturday? I’d like us to have a chat about it”</p><p> </p><p>Truthfully, he isn’t keen on her coming over in case it spooks Tom. He’s never said as much but the fact that Dakin is still married to somebody else is an obvious point of discomfort for him and Dakin has no desire to make it worse, not when he’s doing his very best to persuade him that it’s a good idea they live together.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a long way for you to come,” He hedges. “Why don’t we have lunch somewhere nice?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want to cry in public. Especially if it’s nice”</p><p> </p><p>“My treat, and I promise to try not to make you cry”</p><p> </p><p>She chuckles, wetly. “Why couldn’t you be this cute when we were married?”</p><p> </p><p>He pushes away the stab of guilt and remorse.</p><p> </p><p>“We are married,” He reminds her.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah” She doesn’t sound any less glum.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“You did the test then. I thought you didn’t want to...”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t, and then – well, there were reasons I had to know.”</p><p> </p><p>“He being a dick about it?” He frowns, a protective anger flaring to life in his gut.</p><p> </p><p>She smiles faintly. “He’s not around any more. Hasn’t been for a while”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, me too”</p><p> </p><p>“If it helps I’m glad it’s mine. I mean, I’m shitting myself and I wish it had happened a year ago, but I’m glad.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know you won’t believe it, and I’m not sure I do either, but I’ve always had a feeling, you know? And the money was sitting there and – well, I was sick of twisting in the wind. God, maybe I’m insane. I’m certainly a terrible mother to risk his life on a hunch” she wipes at her eyes with a clean tissue.</p><p> </p><p>“No” Dakin tries to reassure her. “The doctor didn’t tell you not to, did she? She just said there was a risk”</p><p> </p><p>She gives a scoff that’s broken by a hiccup and he laughs.</p><p> </p><p>“I am excited happy about the baby, really.” She promises. “Despite appearances.”</p><p> </p><p>She reaches across the table and lays her hand over his, her eyes swimming with tears.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>His head buzzing like a swarm of bees, Dakin makes his way to the bar around the corner from Irwin’s place. They’ve been there a few times together and it’s nice: live music, plenty of atmosphere. Tonight, though, Dakin would rather be anywhere else in the world.</p><p> </p><p>When Irwin limps into the moody, neon-lit space, Dakin is already several drinks in, although the unfocused, numb feeling he’s after still eludes him.</p><p> </p><p>He leans on his stick – something he avoids in public generally, so he must be exhausted, but he’s smiling in that way that makes lines form around his mouth and eyes, and Dakin wants to capture the image in his mind forever.</p><p> </p><p>He can barely even respond to the shy press of lips against his, despite how much he wants to.</p><p> </p><p>“You alright?” Irwin smiles, settling himself down with a pint. “You seem distracted”</p><p> </p><p>“Jessica wants to try again”</p><p> </p><p>His face freezes.</p><p> </p><p>“And you said…?”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin winces. “She’s my wife. We’re having a baby”</p><p> </p><p>He shrugs. That really is the crux of his decision.</p><p> </p><p>“I see. Of course.” Nodding, Irwin swiftly gathers his lighter, phone and wallet from the table.</p><p> </p><p>Sensing that the moment has come where everything slips away from him, Dakin rallies. He doesn’t know what he’s hoping to achieve, he just can’t let Irwin go without trying to make him understand.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not been easy and if it weren’t for this – “</p><p> </p><p>“I get it, honestly, I do. I just - I think I need to be alone right now” Irwin is already pulling on his jacket, his drink abandoned on the table between them.</p><p> </p><p>“Tom, I – “ He breaks off mid sentence. The truth is he doesn’t know what he wants to say.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll call you, ok? But I need some space”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Tom doesn’t call. Truthfully, Dakin didn’t expect him to.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The following week he moves back in with Jessica, on a trial basis. The first night back in bed beside her is surreal and he lies awake all night, staring at her back in the semi-dark, her long black hair now foreign and strange to him.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t give up his flat yet, although he considers that he ought to at least rent it out. They don’t need the money, though and he doesn’t want the hassle.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t tell Jess about Irwin. Not because he feels guilty, far from it, but he doesn’t want it to become more water under the bridge: something that’s now theirs instead of his, something to move past.</p><p> </p><p>He thinks about him a lot though, sometimes he catches himself wondering what Irwin will think of the baby and whether they’ll like each other. Usually it happens when he’s shopping for baby things, or preparing the nursery by himself. But this silly thought train always ends the same way: crashing into the grim reality that they’ll probably never meet. Angrily he shoves it away and gets on with his tasks.</p><p> </p><p>The stuffed giraffe sits in the now powder-blue nursery; Dakin’s taken to rubbing the tuft of silky soft hair between its horns every time he walks by.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He thinks of the baby, his baby, his son.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Over the next couple of months he tries his best to be a good husband. He does the washing up and orders takeaway on Fridays instead of going out. He rubs Jess’s back and her feet and tells her she’s lovely, but his heart isn’t in it like it used to be, and even though he’s doing more than he used to he’s more keenly aware of his every shortcoming.</p><p> </p><p>He thinks she knows he’s only pretending.</p><p> </p><p>The irony is, he understands now something she said when they split up: ‘<em>I think I’m over you’.</em> He had bitterly replayed that sentence in his head over and over for months after they spilt; saw it swimming in countless pint glasses, wondering what on earth she was talking about.</p><p> </p><p>He’s over her, and despite all the talking and thinking it over, he can’t manage to fall back in love with her.</p><p> </p><p>It isn’t how it used to be at all – only it is, which makes it weirder. It’s just him that’s different. She gets on his nerves constantly, in a way she never used to – for things he even remembers being fond of only a year ago.</p><p> </p><p>For his part, he hurts her feelings at every turn, and she snaps at him or dissolves into floods of tears in response to almost everything he says. He clings to the fact that it might all just be the pregnancy hormones and that one day they can go back to how they used to be, as if the past year was all a dream. Of course, there will be no way of telling until after the baby comes.</p><p> </p><p>He isn’t sure if their relationship has suffered from the lies and separation or whether it was always this shit and he never noticed before. That thought keeps him awake at night more than any other.</p><p> </p><p>In an attempt to revive things, they try having sex again. It’s good, after the initial awkwardness - surprisingly good, Dakin had forgotten how good it used to be, but then he shouldn’t really be surprised. Sex was never their problem. In fact, he didn’t know they had a problem. They have one now though - he doesn’t love her, and unless she’s had a rapid change of heart over the last few months, she doesn’t love him. It’s useless pretending otherwise. Sexually they may still work together, but everything else, Dakin feels, they could both do without.</p><p> </p><p>Once she’s asleep and breathing deeply, he gets up and tiptoes into the en-suite and stares at his reflection in the mirror.</p><p> </p><p>They’ll just have the one, he tells himself – one kid and he’ll stay until he’s – what? Eleven? Twelve? How old was he before he could do without his dad? Probably younger than that, and maybe it would be better not to break up their family at the same time as the boy hits puberty – and, anyway, his kid won’t be without him, he wouldn’t abandon him, they just won’t be under the same roof. Dakin will make sure he always knows that, from the day he’s born. He’ll give it ten years, eleven tops.</p><p> </p><p>He and Irwin found each other twice, and if it’s meant to be he has to trust that it’ll happen again. If it follows the pattern so far, the third time will be fucking amazing. He chuckles to himself at the thought and before he knows it it’s morphed into weeping softly at his reflection. He doesn’t go back to bed, but takes a blanket to the nursery and sleeps in the armchair there, the stuffed giraffe keeping vigil on the floor by the chair, like a dog.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which dinner with the Scosners give Dakin much to think about (and he makes a Holy Show of himself)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It... appears to be getting longer :/ The end is nigh (or at least nighish), don't despair!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>“Couldn’t sleep again?” Jess smiles, shuffling into his study, in her dressing gown.</p><p> </p><p>He takes a sip of his coffee and pauses the telly.</p><p> </p><p>“Morning”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s this?”</p><p> </p><p>“Just a history programme I recorded on the sky”</p><p> </p><p>“You never record anything on the sky. You always said telly is for losers with nothing better to do”</p><p> </p><p>He shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>She comes around behind him and leans on the back of his chair to better see the screen.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, my dad saw the last series, I think. He said it ‘Relied on shock value instead of plain facts’” She grins, growling an approximation of her father’s stern home counties voice. “It’s a bit school level for you, isn’t it?”</p><p> </p><p>“I liked school”</p><p> </p><p>“Your school sounds grim. The way David paints it, the only after school clubs were bare knuckle boxing or smoking behind the science block”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s exaggerating. We had nice teachers”</p><p> </p><p>“…I’m fairly sure you said one of them was sexually abusive”</p><p> </p><p>“Well don’t say it like that! That makes it sound really bad!”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm, go figure”</p><p> </p><p>He dodges her as she reaches for his hair, under the guise of reaching for another sip of coffee.</p><p> </p><p>“Rose coloured glasses I guess. They weren’t all bad”</p><p> </p><p>“Ok, hun” She pats his shoulder and kisses the top of his head. “Don’t forget we have a birthing class later”</p><p> </p><p>“Ugh, why do they do them so late?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because women have jobs. I’ll see you later, ok?”</p><p> </p><p>He pats the baby bump and they kiss each other on the cheek before she leaves to get ready.</p><p> </p><p>Waiting until she's closed the door behind her, he turns back to the screen and resumes the episode. It’s mostly narration over black and white footage from the forties, but it’s nice just to hear Tom’s voice. Occasionally, he appears in view, pointing at a map or a screen with a bad graphic of some manoeuvre or other. Dakin pauses these fleeting sections and drinks in the sight of him looking not at all like the Tom he knows: cheerier, but lacking any sign of genuine happiness; more solid looking, somehow – he doesn’t look anywhere near as thin as Dakin knows him to be in real life, but it isn’t that. He’s a fake Tom, with all of the fragile insecurities edited out. Dakin supposes that they must have been fucking when he filmed this episode, and finds himself taking umbrage that he doesn’t appear at all content.</p><p> </p><p>He’s sorry for him, that he never made it back to Hawaii, or to Japan. One day, he’d love them to go together.</p><p> </p><p>“One day in your dreams”, he mutters under his breath, and flicks it off to get ready for work.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“I swear to God, one of the women there was talking about Persephone as a name for her daughter”</p><p> </p><p>“If you will hang around with people above your station” Posner smiles, slyly winking at Jess as he spoons potatoes onto their plates.</p><p> </p><p>“Above my station? I’ll have you know I can make myself indistinguishable from any of these posh knobs” Dakin nudges her, fondly.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re a working class boy at heart and you know it” Scripps smiles.</p><p> </p><p>“Am I fuck!”</p><p> </p><p>“And they know it too!” Pos laughs. “if you don’t call the kid something with at least four syllables they’ll realise you don't belong and devour you whole”</p><p> </p><p>Jess adds some light hearted nonsense about breeding whippets and Scripps gets in some stupid jibes about ‘going down the pit’, which don’t even work, as Dakin points out, what with him being from the same town. For a while it’s like old times, so much so, Dakin even forgets to miss Irwin.</p><p> </p><p>Dakin starts the evening full of bonhomie, laughing about the birth classes and the ridiculous people there, and celebrating his newly reunited family with their friends, but as the drinks flow his mood grows darker and he gets quieter, until he’s sinking glass after glass in an effort to recapture the buoyancy of earlier.</p><p> </p><p>The plates cleared, and everyone bursting with food, Scripps strong arms him into the kitchen to help wash up.</p><p> </p><p>He shoots a sideways glance at Dakin as he dries beside him.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m happy for you. You and Jess back together. You must be delighted. This is still dirty” He hands him back a casserole dish, pointing to specks of food that are invisible to Dakin.</p><p> </p><p>Dakin mumbles about him being fussy, but rewashes it anyway.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. I’m glad you guys made up, too. It didn’t sit well with me - breaking up the gang” He’s especially pleased that Jess and Pos are talking again, they always did get on like a house on fire, from the moment they met.</p><p> </p><p>“Stu, I don’t want to nag, but… we had a word about the drinking, didn’t we?” He folds his tea towel carefully and motions for Dakin to sit down at the cluttered breakfast bar.</p><p> </p><p>Carefully stacking the dish on the draining board, Dakin warily moves away from the sink and sits down.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s ok. Thanks for looking out for me, but I’m fine. There have been a lot of changes happening recently, I’m adapting, that’s all”</p><p> </p><p>Unconvinced, Scripps frowns at him. “You’ve never had much trouble ‘adapting’ to anything in the past”</p><p> </p><p>“What can I say?” Dakin plasters on a smile. “I’m getting staid in my old age”</p><p> </p><p>“Look, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to come out with it…” Scripps runs a hand through the receding hair at his temples. “Do you think that having an alcoholic for a father is the best choice for your child?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not an alcoholic”</p><p> </p><p>“Not yet. You’re not far off and I would think the fact that you have a child on the way is enough to make you reconsider the choices you’re making here. ”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t lecture me about my child, you have no idea the sacrifices I’m making for this baby!”</p><p> </p><p>Scripps raises a condescending eyebrow. “Is there something we need to talk about?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, there fucking isn’t”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I think there is, because for the past year you’ve been at the bottom of a bottle because Jess left you, and now you’re back together you seem, if anything, to be worse.”</p><p> </p><p>“If you’re done here, I think it’s time we left”</p><p> </p><p>Scripps opens his mouth to disagree but Dakin stands before he can get a word out, the bar stool drowning out anything Scripps might say in a screech of metal on tile that sets Dakin's teeth on edge.</p><p> </p><p>He lurches back to the dining room as fast as he can manage, where Jess and Pos are laughing happily together.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry to intrude. I’m tired now, I’d like to go home”</p><p> </p><p>Posner lays a hand on Jess’s shoulder and looks up.</p><p> </p><p>“Dakin, I don’t want you driving home. I think you ought to call a cab”</p><p> </p><p>“No need, I’m fine. I can drive myself. Come on, Jess”</p><p> </p><p>“OK well, you can’t drive Jess”</p><p> </p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not driving Jess in this state, I’m not letting you”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin huffs an incredulous laugh. “<strong>You’re</strong> not letting me? Who the fuck are you to let me, or not let me?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not getting into it, not when you’re in this mood”</p><p> </p><p>Without so much as raising his voice, Posner easily plucks the keys from his uncoordinated fingers and marches down the hall.</p><p> </p><p>Dakin follows just in time to see him flush them down the toilet.</p><p> </p><p>“You can come back tomorrow with the spare set and fetch the car then. For now it’s a cab or the spare bed. Take your pick.”</p><p> </p><p>Jess and Scripps stand in doorways at opposite ends of the hall, watching.</p><p> </p><p>She's the one to break the silence. “A cab would be great, thanks, David. I’m sorry about Stuart”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t apologise for me!” He snarls at her</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Please” Posner frowns in his direction. “Don’t. He’s not your doing, trust me he’s been like this since long before you met. Dakin, I’m getting you a cab, Jess is staying with us tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>“So first you accuse me of being an alcoholic, and now I’m not safe to be around my own wife!”</p><p> </p><p>“No one has accused you of anything”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin splutters.</p><p> </p><p>“We’re worried about you. As for ‘your wife’ I’m not allowing <em>my </em>friend to put up with this sort of shit from you all evening. She doesn’t deserve it, and at nearly eight months pregnant, I don’t think it’s advisable”</p><p> </p><p>“And doesn’t she get a say?” Dakin focuses his eyes on Jess with a small effort. He must be more pissed than he thought, not that he’ll admit it.</p><p> </p><p>“No!” Posner’s eyes are like steel.</p><p> </p><p>Quelled into silence, Dakin waits on the stairs for his cab, sulkily refusing to speak to any of them.</p><p> </p><p>Once he arrives home in disgrace he tries ringing Irwin’s number, but it goes straight to voicemail and he falls asleep with his mobile forgotten somewhere among the pillows.</p><p> </p><p>When he wakes the next morning he vaguely remembers leaving a long message about the Pearl Harbour documentary. Christ, he hopes it was a dream.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Posner curtly informs him that he and Scripps are awaiting his apology and until it’s forthcoming Dakin isn’t welcome at theirs. He would of course, gladly give it, except the ultimatum, along with the fact that it needs to be accompanied by ‘a plan for change’ sours him on the idea, so he leaves with his nose in the air and waits for Jess in the car.</p><p> </p><p>She gives him the silent treatment until, after half an hour, he gives up and apologises, and then she scolds him for embarrassing her until they arrive home, but she doesn’t say anything else about it afterwards, and they even manage to be civil to each other for the rest of the weekend.</p><p> </p><p>Privately, he considers what Scripps said about the baby and tries to cut back on the drinking when Jess is around. He doesn’t want to be a deadbeat drunk dad, not when he’s given up this much already.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I may have used some brand names which makes me nervous, so in this fictional verse there's a tv company where you can record shit but it's called sky with a small s and is not the same as the one with a big S that exists in this universe, don't sue me Mr Murdoch, I don't have anything except cats and an aggressive mint plant.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dakin and Jess spend some time together.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter has been written since the very beginning like nine months ago (ironic timing), I hope you enjoy it half as much as I enjoyed writing it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>They’re out together shopping for eternity rings, of all things. The irony doesn’t escape him, and he doubts it does her either - although he daren’t say anything as she’s grown increasingly volatile and weepy since they passed the eight-month mark a week ago.</p><p> </p><p>He has very little opinion on whatever shiny lump she fancies, and is absently gazing around the relatively empty street, having already agreed that several rings in the window of this particular shop (and the previous five) are ‘very nice’, when an attractive tall bloke catches his eye.</p><p> </p><p>The guy sees him looking and hurriedly looks away. At first, Dakin presumes that it’s simply knee jerk homophobia at noticing he was being checked out by a man, but Jessica turns around at that moment and drops her bag in a way that’s so obviously staged it makes Dakin look again. When he stoops to pick it up, the other bloke is looking back over his shoulder at them.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m tired, Stu,” Jess says, breathlessly “maybe we can stop for coffee?”</p><p> </p><p>She heads straight to the loo once they’re settles in the nearest trendy café cum bar cum eatery – he isn’t sure why these places have suddenly sprung up everywhere, replacing normal cafes, as far as he can tell the music’s too loud and they have no atmosphere. <em>Jesus</em>, He realises, <em>I’m middle aged</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Rolling his eyes at himself, Jess’s handbag catches his eye, where she’s left it lying on the table, the zip is open to reveal her mobile lying there amongst the assembled detritus.</p><p> </p><p>It isn’t that he plans to do it, if he gave it even a moment’s thought he’d have to admit it’s a terrible idea, but before he’s thought it through he’s lifted it from the bag. The pass code is easy, it’s the same as the entry code to their building, and her pin number - he’s lectured her on it a thousand times but he’s glad of it now.</p><p> </p><p>It isn’t even as though he’s expecting to find anything particular, he’s just carried along by a low level mistrust that started in the street.</p><p> </p><p>Heart in his mouth, he opens up her message folder. They’re mostly from him work, Posner, or various girlfriends and he’s feeling pretty stupid, when the phone buzzes in his hand. It’s almost too much to believe.</p><p> </p><p>It’s a message from someone named Gary. He opens it without hesitation.</p><p> </p><p>&lt;&lt;Why didnt u tell me? Is that Y u left?&gt;&gt;</p><p> </p><p>It buzzes again. Another message from Gary.</p><p> </p><p>&lt;&lt;I am assuming its his??&gt;&gt;</p><p> </p><p>Heart racing, he find’s Gary’s name in the contacts and opens up the rest of the messages.</p><p> </p><p>&lt;&lt;Is it something I’ve done?&gt;&gt;</p><p> </p><p>&lt;&lt;whats happened?&gt;&gt;</p><p> </p><p>&lt;&lt;Jessica? Is everything ok??&gt;&gt;</p><p> </p><p>&lt;&lt;Pls call me&gt;&gt;</p><p> </p><p>&lt;&lt;You haven’t returned my calls&gt;&gt;</p><p> </p><p>&lt;&lt;did u get the flowers?&gt;&gt;</p><p> </p><p>&lt;&lt;I cnt stop thinkng abt u&gt;&gt;</p><p> </p><p>&lt;&lt;drinks l8r?&gt;&gt;</p><p> </p><p>&lt;&lt;last night was amazing&gt;&gt;</p><p> </p><p>They become increasingly intimate the further back he reads.</p><p> </p><p>&lt;&lt;I luv u&gt;&gt;</p><p> </p><p>“Stu? What are you doing?”</p><p> </p><p>She sounds horrified, but there’s no need. As far as he can see poor old Gary has been ghosted ever since she took the pregnancy test.</p><p> </p><p>His throat dry, he motions for her to sit down.</p><p> </p><p>“How dare you go through my phone?”</p><p> </p><p>She snatches it off the table and shoves it away in her bag, blushing furiously as she zips it up and shoves it beneath the table.</p><p> </p><p>He motions for the waiter and orders a herbal tea and a glass of wine.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re supposed to be off the drink!” She snaps.</p><p> </p><p>“If I didn’t know better I would say you look guilty” Fuck it, but to his own ears he sounds pure Sheffield.</p><p> </p><p>“Guilty? I’m fucking furious!”</p><p> </p><p>He holds his hand up to silence her as the waiter arrives.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh sorry, am I embarrassing you?” She raises her voice even louder.</p><p> </p><p>He rolls his eyes. Anger is doing its best to spark to life in his gut, but like a lighter that’s run dry, the sparks fail to flare and instead he’s just tired and sad. Actually, she’s right: guilty, that’s it. Not about going through her phone, but about being so weak as to go along with this charade.</p><p> </p><p>“Stop, I want to talk to you”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not sure I want to talk to you”</p><p> </p><p>“Please, truce? I’m sorry I went through your phone, it was wrong of me”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes it bloody well was. Well?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why are we doing this? You and me. That guy back there – Gary wasn’t it?”</p><p> </p><p>She blanches white but recovers admirably and he remembers why he loved her.</p><p> </p><p>“Stuart we were on a break, we were getting divorced” Laying a hand on her stomach she breathes deeply to centre herself.</p><p> </p><p>“You ok?”</p><p> </p><p>She nods. “I haven’t been with anyone else since we decided to get back together. I’m sorry for what happened in the past but I’m bloody trying here”</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes fill with tears.</p><p> </p><p>“You love him don’t you?” He asks gently, trying to banish his vestigial jealousy.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t answer but takes a deep shaky breath, the tears spilling over her thick lash implants. She brushes them away with beautifully French manicured fingers.</p><p> </p><p>He drains his wine in one go, reaches out and takes her hand.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s ok, it really is. I think it’s time to face facts”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean?” She breathes, and he can tell she’s willing her voice not to waver.</p><p> </p><p>“This marriage was over six months ago, let’s be honest it was over a year ago when you met Gary, and I think splitting up was the right decision”</p><p> </p><p>Fear flashes in her eyes at the realisation of what he’s saying.</p><p> </p><p>“If he’s any sort of man at all, he isn’t going to be put off because of the baby, but whatever happens I’m still going to pay ok? And I still want to be a big part of baby Stuart’s life”</p><p> </p><p>That gets a laugh. “We’re not fucking calling him Stuart”</p><p> </p><p>“Well we’re not calling him fucking Timothy”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s my dad’s name” She smiles, rallying their old argument.</p><p> </p><p>“So we’ll think of a new one. This isn’t easy Jess, I really wanted to live with my son, but - I don’t know about you, I can’t imagine my childhood would have been improved by living with parents who were both in love with somebody else. That’s never going to work.”</p><p> </p><p>“You too?”</p><p> </p><p>“I haven’t had any contact for months and it’s killing me”</p><p> </p><p>She dries her eyes and takes a sip of water. When she speaks again he’d never know she was upset. He feels a fresh wave of admiration for her.</p><p> </p><p>“Does this mean I don’t get my eternity ring?” She smiles.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll buy you a divorce ring instead”</p><p> </p><p>She pats her bump. “Thanks, you can put it towards his school fees if you prefer”</p><p> </p><p>“I mean it. I really want to be in his life, and as his dad, not just some bloke who takes him for a day out occasionally”</p><p> </p><p>“Good. We’re agreed on that”</p><p> </p><p>She smiles so wide that it makes Dakin realise he hasn’t seen her really smile in fucking years and he wants to laugh because all this misery and he could have just <em>said</em> something. He breathes deep with delight.</p><p> </p><p>She summons the waiter back and orders a chocolate pudding and a glass of champagne.</p><p> </p><p>“Go on then, tell me all about her” She smiles as they toast their new freedom. </p><p> </p><p>"Your lady love” She explains at his puzzled look.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, that. It’s a him, actually”</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes widen across the table. “I thought that was all college rumours”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not closeted or anything, it’s a variety thing”</p><p> </p><p>“Who am I to judge? I’m just surprised.”</p><p> </p><p>He tells her about Tom and listens as she tells him about how she met Gary and they get so carried away chatting they stay on at the place for dinner.</p><p> </p><p>He really, really likes Jessica, it turns out. He made the right choice by marrying her, just as it’s the right choice to end it.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll drive you home and pick up a few bits”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to go, Stu”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I have to see Tom. I owe it to him”</p><p> </p><p>She lays a hand on his arm. “If he’s any sort of man, he’ll understand”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck” he grimaces “I thought it sounded original and inspiring. It doesn’t does it?”</p><p> </p><p>She shakes her head and wrinkles her nose, laughing.</p><p> </p><p>He kisses her on the cheek as they stand to leave.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re the best ex-wife in the world”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not such a bad ex-husband”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, before I forget, you have a text from Gary. When I was going through your phone. Call him. I recommend laying it on thick, don’t hold back the tears”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re such a cynic, stop!”</p><p> </p><p>“Just make sure he knows he’s sharing my son with me, not the other way round”</p><p> </p><p>They leave the place a far happier couple than they entered, both of them smiling and with their arms around each other.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(of course he's going to buy her a big shiny divorce ring)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Pos and Scripps give our boy some parenting lessons.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was going to be one chapter but I decided to break it up, hence this one is very short - I don't even know what I'm doing LOL but I hope you're all safe and well and this gives you a smile Xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>There’s nobody in when Dakin arrives at Irwin’s place, so his grand romantic gesture is spoiled. He waits around for a while before he calls, but, as expected, there’s no answer, so he resorts to his Plan B and redials.</p><p> </p><p>“Dakin, what’s up?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hi Scripps, I’ll explain later but, basically, I need somewhere to stay and I’d rather not go home. Can I crash at yours tonight?”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong with your flat? The spare one, I mean”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s nobody there”</p><p> </p><p>“I would have thought that made it perfect”</p><p> </p><p>He's still cross, Dakin can hear it in his voice, but he's desperate.</p><p> </p><p>“Please, mate?”</p><p> </p><p>Scripps sighs down the phone. “Always”</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t expect to get off scot-free, but he hasn’t in his worst nightmares imagined what’s in store for him.</p><p> </p><p>When he gets to Brixton, the spare room is made up, there’s supper on the table, and Posner is waiting to give him a talking to. It is terrifying. When he tries to recall it later, Dakin will find that he’s mostly blacked it out of his memory.</p><p> </p><p>“How many times are you going to change your mind about this, Dakin? How many times do you think you’re going to be allowed to get away with this shit?”</p><p> </p><p>“I was just trying to do the right thing” He moans, his head in his hands.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, the right thing, of course. Which right thing exactly? Remind me. Do you mean when you slept with your ex-wife, ruining her relationship and knocking her up in one go? Or when you started a rebound thing with your friend? Maybe when you led him to believe it was going somewhere serious before dumping him like a hot brick for your ex again? Or do you mean now, when you’re trying to pick him back up like nothing’s happened? Fuck, Dakin! You better pray for any future siblings it might have that this kid doesn’t inherit your self-entitlement.”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t want to," He tries, meekly. "I just thought it would be for the best”</p><p> </p><p>“Wow, you are a true fucking martyr. That’s all fine then, I’m sure Irwin's heart wasn’t broken, because as long as you ‘didn’t want to’ dump him, then he’s completely fine with being repeatedly picked up and discarded on a fucking whim. I’m sure Jessica’s life hasn’t been turned upside down and inside out because you ‘didn’t want to’ get her pregnant, or restart your marriage whilst developing a drink problem. As long as you ‘didn’t want to’ fuck up everyone’s lives, then surely no harm has been done, because that’s the way the world works. You’ve been behaving like a spoiled kid, treating everyone around you like they're your toys, and you’re sitting here playing the victim. I’m utterly ashamed of you.”</p><p> </p><p>If someone had told him when he first met David Posner that the camp, rather frail-looking boy in front of him would one day reduce him to hot, shame-filled tears, Dakin would never have believed them.</p><p> </p><p>The last time they’d spoken, Posner had demanded an apology from him, but now, when heartfelt remorse drops from his lips, he stands with his arms folded, unmoved.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s no good you saying ‘sorry’ to me. What about Jess? What about your son? What about Irwin? Even Gary. It’s them you owe apologies to”</p><p> </p><p>Upstairs, Scripps provides a friendly ear once Posner’s done with him, but after the severe talking to, Dakin is too ashamed to concern him much with his own woes. He fills him in on the important facts and leaves it at that.</p><p> </p><p>“Stu, please promise me you’re going to take care of yourself. Don’t mind Pos, he’s only hard because he worries. He’s had a few sleepless nights lately over the pair of you”</p><p> </p><p>“Christ, I’m so sorry” Dakin sighs again, sinking onto the spare mattress.</p><p> </p><p>Scripps perches beside him and throws an arm around his shoulders. “You can always talk to me, you know that, right? And you can stay as long as you want”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks, mate” He whispers.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Before he goes to sleep, Dakin takes off his wedding ring for the last time.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Dakin does battle with receptionists and prepares to grovel.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Will the next installment be the last chapter or will I manage to shoehorn in another one? Who knows at this stage.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>It takes an annoying amount of detective work to track Irwin down, and Dakin resorts to just showing up at his house every day.</p><p> </p><p>After a week of this, the neighbour informs him that he’s just missed him.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks, erm, do you know when he’ll be back?”</p><p> </p><p>“No idea” he grunts, collecting his milk off the step</p><p> </p><p>“Right. Do you know where he’s gone?”</p><p> </p><p>“I expect he’s at work” The man eyes him up and down with disapproval, shakes his head and heads back inside.</p><p> </p><p>A bit rich from someone who’s appearing in public in a dirty dressing-gown, Dakin thinks.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you too” He growls at the closed door.</p><p> </p><p>Still, if Tom wants to hide away at work, that’s where Dakin will go to find him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately, it turns out you can’t just wander into Broadcasting House and expect to find anyone who works for the BBC. The guy behind the reception desk is juggling two phone calls and having an involved conversation via yelling with someone in the back room, and isn’t even slightly interested in helping Dakin.</p><p> </p><p>He’s never heard of Tom and neither has the back room assistant.</p><p> </p><p>“You must have,” Dakin frowns. “About so high," He gestures "glasses…he’s on the telly”</p><p> </p><p>The man gives Dakin a look that roughly translates as ‘<em>are you stupid?</em>’</p><p> </p><p>It’s reminiscent of that first trip to Oxford, and, for a mad second, Dakin is gripped with the panic that Irwin lied about this too. But no, he’s seen him presenting in full colour on BBC Two. He knows he works here, and he will find him.</p><p> </p><p>“He works for you. I’ve got an appointment” he lies.</p><p> </p><p>With a deep sigh of reluctance, this desk jockey is persuaded to roll his chair six inches away to call to his friend.</p><p> </p><p>“Kim! ... Have you ever heard of a Tom Ewan?”</p><p> </p><p>“Irwin” Dakin corrects, but the receptionist doesn’t respond.</p><p> </p><p>“Works here, apparently…”</p><p> </p><p>Unseen, she squawks a negative and he turns back to Dakin with a shrug that says that, for him, the whole thing is settled.</p><p> </p><p>“No, sorry mate”</p><p> </p><p>“Could you look, please?” Dakin taps the top of the monitor in front of him, provoking an affronted frown. “It’s important”</p><p> </p><p>Folding his arms he uses every ounce of body language to assert that he’s not going anywhere.</p><p> </p><p>The bloke sighs again, heavily and dons a pair of rimless glasses. “Do you know what department?”</p><p> </p><p>“History?” He tries</p><p> </p><p>He trains another withering look on Dakin. “Writing, production, research, technical, post-production?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, um, he’s a presenter, I think”</p><p> </p><p>After an extended back and forth of threatening, asserting and flirting, Dakin eventually manages to get redirected (with much tutting on the part of his helper) to Boreham Wood.</p><p> </p><p>Muttering darkly about jobs worths, Tom, and misleading claims, he makes his way out of London.</p><p> </p><p>The next receptionist is rather more helpful. He puts this down to her being an older lady whose white roots show starkly from under her jet black hair, her eyes rimmed with tattooed on eyeliner. He pegs her as a late divorcee, and rightly supposes she will be much more susceptible to his charms than the obnoxious twink in the metropolis.</p><p> </p><p>She does know Tom, but as he doesn’t have an appointment she regretfully tells him that he’ll have to make one for later in the week.</p><p> </p><p>Thankfully, Irwin walks in the door at that moment in the middle of a crowd of rushed professional looking women, all of them carrying takeaway cups and none of them sparing him a glance.</p><p> </p><p>Dakin nearly misses him, except he stops by reception to hand over a coffee.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Tom, love, there’s someone here for you” She mutters in a strained, but clearly audible voice, with a wink that involves half her face. The whole performance makes it look as though she’s had a stroke.</p><p> </p><p>As he turns, Irwin’s frown of confusion melts away and his face falls.</p><p> </p><p>Not wanting to think about that too closely, Dakin offers what he hopes is a suitably bashful smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Irwin falls silent</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t return my calls” He says by way of explanation.</p><p> </p><p>Irwin shrugs. “New phone”</p><p> </p><p>He pulls it out of his pocket as if he has to prove it and gives it a little wiggle.</p><p> </p><p>“You could have called me”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t think it would be right. You’ve made your decision, I didn’t think there was anything else to say”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re angry with me”</p><p> </p><p>“Look, do you think we could do this somewhere that’s … not in the middle of the office. I have to work with these people”</p><p> </p><p>The receptionist swiftly ducks her head down to the desk.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I take you to lunch?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’d rather you didn’t”</p><p> </p><p>“Why not?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because I don’t fuck married men”</p><p> </p><p>“Jesus, who’s airing their dirty laundry in public now? I just want to talk. Five minutes, please?”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin snorts an angry breath through his nose, like a horse.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on then” He mutters and gets him a visitor’s pass from the, now mute, receptionist.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t speak until they’re safely inside an empty meeting room. Irwin closes the door and stands hands on hips, looking vaguely confrontational.</p><p> </p><p>“This is where you work then?” Dakin selects one of the scattered chairs and sits down. “It’s nice”</p><p> </p><p>“What did you want to say, Stuart?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re angry with me, I know.” He repeats.</p><p> </p><p>Irwin physically deflates.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not. I’m angry at – I don’t know, myself, I guess, for getting carried away. So soon after Rob and with you of all people, and your divorce wasn’t even through and, oh I don’t know.”</p><p> </p><p>Sighing, he sinks into a chair and rubs his injured leg.</p><p> </p><p>“I broke my own heart I suppose, but I don’t want us to be friends. That is, I don’t think I can do it”</p><p> </p><p>“Will you shut up for a second? I’ve come to apologise to you. I made the wrong decision. It’s you I want, and I let you down and I’m so sorry for that and I want… I want to start again”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin blinks and frowns and blinks some more.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m still going to be a dad to my baby, but me and Jessica talked it through and papering over the cracks of a loveless marriage – what the fuck were we thinking? So we’ve decided to go our separate ways, for good this time”</p><p> </p><p>He takes his wedding ring out of his inner pocket and holds it out.</p><p> </p><p>Irwin sits and looks at it for a long time.</p><p> </p><p>“So you came here…”</p><p> </p><p>“To beg for your forgiveness. Actually, I went to your place first, but you weren’t there”</p><p> </p><p>“A stupid weekend away thing to forget my troubles”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah”</p><p> </p><p>“It didn’t work”</p><p> </p><p>“Too bad.” Feeling awkward, he puts the ring down on the table between them, as Tom makes no move to accept it. “So…. Any thoughts?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know, Stu. Can I have some time to think about it?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve been messed around a lot, I get it”</p><p> </p><p>His smile agrees even if he doesn’t say as much.</p><p> </p><p>“Take all the time you need”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Dakin needs to prove himself and he knows just the people to help him</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The last full length chapter, the next one is just a baby thing (because I suck at editing)</p><p>In other news this is now the longest thing I've written (it could have been cut down by a long way but shhhh, I'm having fun) </p><p>Love you all for reading this crazy beast Xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>The last thing he expects to find when he gets home is Irwin, waiting on his sofa with a cup of tea and a handwritten list of bullet points.</p><p> </p><p>Confused, he glances back towards the front door, but it provides no answers.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re in my flat”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin looks at him expectantly.</p><p> </p><p>“I thought you were at work” He explains, heat rising on his cheeks as he realises how foolish he sounds.</p><p> </p><p>“I had to take the afternoon off. For some reason I wasn’t in the right headspace for work, and I still had a key so…”</p><p> </p><p>Momentary confusion forgotten, Dakin grins and takes a seat next him, pressing their knees together, at last feeling on more even ground. Irwin shuffles away a little, and when Dakin slides closer again he lifts a hand to push him away.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, I thought-" He frowns, the confusion returning as Irwin stands.</p><p> </p><p>“I know what you thought, but I’m just here to talk. Although, for the record Mags on reception says if I’m not interested then she is, so you’ve got options”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin doesn’t laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“If we’re not making up, why are you in my flat?”</p><p> </p><p>“I told you, I had a spare key and didn’t fancy waiting on the pavement like a lost dog”</p><p> </p><p>“Will you please be serious?”</p><p> </p><p>“OK” Irwin takes a deep breath and consults his list.</p><p> </p><p>His stomach sinking, too late Dakin gets the feeling he’s put his own head in the noose.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t play second fiddle to your ex anymore. This is why I didn’t want us to live together. I always knew you’d dump me for her if the chance arose and I just can’t do it.”</p><p> </p><p>“What are you talking about? Second fiddle – is that what you think you are?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh please, we were only friends because she broke your heart and you needed a shoulder to cry on”</p><p> </p><p>“At first, maybe, yeah!”</p><p> </p><p>“And when she got pregnant you needed more, and that’s understandable but it’s not working for me. I’m old and I’m lonely and I need something real”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin sprawls back in his seat with a scoff.</p><p> </p><p>“Jesus, overdramatic much? You’re only forty”</p><p> </p><p>“Have you got any idea how old forty is in gay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Right, because no middle-aged blokes ever get laid, and you’ve been doing so badly up until now”</p><p> </p><p>“Excuse me? My last serious relationships have both left me for someone else. I don’t call that a success story!”</p><p> </p><p>“Ok, you know what…” Dakin stands and grabs his keys “Come with me? I’m no good at this so I need to show you something”</p><p> </p><p>“Where are we going?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m taking you home to my folks”</p><p> </p><p>“You want me to go up to Sheffield?”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t be daft, that wouldn’t help. These ones are the real thing”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Dakin, how delightful to see you again, so soon” Pos drawls, swinging the front door open to reveal his ensemble of holey cardigan and brown slippers. The fluffy cat blinks at them from its position, draped casually over his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“You look like someone’s gay maiden aunt”</p><p> </p><p>“And you look like a crazed bisexual car-crash with a drinking problem.”</p><p> </p><p>Formalities complete, Dakin steps aside to reveal Irwin, who is fidgeting nervously.</p><p> </p><p>“This is Tom”</p><p> </p><p>“Do come in.” Posner steps back.</p><p> </p><p>“Nice to meet you – again” Irwin mumbles, wiping his feet on the mat. “I’m sorry, this has all been rather sprung on me. I would normally bring something”</p><p> </p><p>“This one has manners, at least. Welcome, Sir. We’ve heard a lot about you lately”</p><p> </p><p>“Good, I hope?” He laughs, with no trace of humour</p><p> </p><p>“Semi-coherent, mostly”</p><p> </p><p>Posner adds a glare at Dakin, for effect, who rolls his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Don!” He calls, padding down the hall in his granddad slippers “The prodigal son has returned. Again”</p><p> </p><p>Irwin turns to him, his eyes wide with apprehension.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on”</p><p> </p><p>He leads the way down the short hall into the tiny sitting room, where Scripps is knitting, of all things.</p><p> </p><p>“Any chance of dinner?”</p><p> </p><p>“Dakin, you might have called, or – you know, brought something”</p><p> </p><p>He shrugs. “Fuck it, we’ll get pizza. I want you to meet Tom”</p><p> </p><p>“We have met him, same time as you, remember?”</p><p> </p><p>“Meet him properly” He gives Irwin a little shove in the back, pushing him further into the room.</p><p> </p><p>“Ow!”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry. Talk to each other”</p><p> </p><p>“Hello, again.” Irwin extends his hand to shake.</p><p> </p><p>Scripps takes it, his reluctance obvious.</p><p> </p><p>“Nice place you have here”</p><p> </p><p>“For Christ’s sake, talk to each other about me! Tell Tom what I think, what I’m like – tell him… oh, explain about the whole Jess thing and how I feel and everything else I’ve told you, he doesn’t trust me anymore”</p><p> </p><p>“Amazing really” Posner quips, unhooking the cat from his cardigan.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll be in the kitchen”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He sits in front of a mountain of mail and marking, biting his nails until Scripps wanders in to make tea.</p><p> </p><p>“I thought you were ordering pizza”</p><p> </p><p>“Did you want me to?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re the one asking to be fed like a baby bird” He fishes a menu out from the collected crap on the breakfast bar.</p><p> </p><p>Dakin smiles gratefully. “So, what do you think?”</p><p> </p><p>“About what?”</p><p> </p><p>“Tom! Do you like him? He’s nice right?” He squirms gleefully in his seat.<br/><br/></p><p>“No”</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I don’t like him. Pos does, though, which is what’s important”</p><p> </p><p>“How can you not like him?”</p><p> </p><p>Scripps shrugs, peering over at the pizza menu. “I’ve never liked him”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, but I thought now you’ve met him…”</p><p> </p><p>“Dakin, I’ve met him before, I don’t like him”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh” Dakin’s face drops.</p><p> </p><p>“Not that it matters, it’s your opinion that’s important. I’ll have a pepperoni” He heaps sugar into a mug decorated with a cat playing the violin and balances it on a stack of bank statements for Dakin.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Armed with food and filled with apprehension, he tentatively swings open the living room door with a creak.</p><p> </p><p>“Jess is adorable” Pos is smiling at Irwin.</p><p> </p><p>Neither of them look up at Dakin.</p><p> </p><p>“Relax, you’ll love her” (it turns out he’s right, but that won’t be for a few years yet). “No need to look so worried, you won’t meet her for a while yet, anyway. She’s hardly going to let her husband’s new boyfriend meet her when she looks her very worst”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin’s stomach flutters at these words and, rather unfairly, he now doesn’t think he can manage anything to eat. The cat clearly doesn’t feel the same way and it screams at him and tries to climb his leg to reach the cheesy smelling boxes in his arms.</p><p> </p><p>“Could one of you control this beast, please? These are proper Levi’s”</p><p> </p><p>He watches his friends talking and laughing together while he nibbles away at a slice of pizza, engaged in pretending that he’s confident and fine.</p><p> </p><p>“You alright?” Tom asks as, the party disbanded, they step out onto the pavement together.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re very quiet”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, sorry. I'm sorry if Scripps gave you a hard time in there, he can be a bit... dad like”</p><p> </p><p>“Stuart, I’m a forty year old gay man, this is not the first hostile father I’ve encountered, surrogate or otherwise”</p><p> </p><p>“Right" He laughs "Notorious cradle snatcher that you are”</p><p> </p><p>As soon as the words leave his mouth, his heart jumps up to fill their place, worried that Tom will take offence at the weak jibe.</p><p> </p><p>Thankfully, he laughs. “Preparation for the real one, is he?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nah, I haven’t seen my dad in ten years; he traded me and my mum in for a different twenty three year old, although in his defence she definitely had bigger tits than me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shit. I’m sorry”</p><p> </p><p>“Nah, it’s fine. Fuck him…. As for you, Mum wouldn’t care, especially not now she’s getting a grandkid.” He sucks in a deep breath of warm evening air and turns on the pavement to face him. “So, what do you say? Convinced I’m into you?”</p><p> </p><p>“I must be broken” Irwin shakes his head, a smile fighting to creep through.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Chapter 25</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Dakin tries to be nice - honestly, really, he promises.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>OK, I said this would be the last chapter and it would be tiny? Yeah... I lied, sorry, it's all Dakin's fault. </p>
<p>Your gorgeous comments have been keeping me afloat, I cannot tell you how lovely you all are &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When he’s not with Tom, all of Dakin’s spare time is now spent at Jessica’s, preparing for the baby.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sadly, he sees a lot of Gary, who has wasted no time in moving into the flat in Dakin’s place. He’s always there, hovering over Jess’s shoulder, or else peering suspiciously at them from the next room. He barely speaks to Dakin and, after the first terse meeting, prefers not to speak to him directly, but instead interacts through Jess.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dakin jokingly asks her how she’s enjoying her new life as a medium and whether it would be easier if he bought a ouija board. She doesn’t laugh, instead she warns him to be nice and not to stress her out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Jesus, Stu, stop sulking” She snaps, after five minutes of silence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’d thought he was being helpful by shutting up, and is sharply reminded of their past few hellish months of marriage. On the upside, it brings home to him that he isn’t jealous of them being together – not really. Besides, Tom will be proud of him for making an effort, and he owes it to her to make things as easy as possible, at least while she's in her current state.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gary doesn’t seem to share his new philosophy – possibly it’s the absence of a Tom in his life. He makes no effort to hide that he hates Dakin and resents having him around at all, but Stu has enough practice at charming dickheads in his professional life, so how hard can it be? He plasters on what he believes is a disarming grin, which doesn’t falter even when Gary tries to crush his hand into pieces under the guise of a friendly shake.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His initial impression of Gary had been one of striking good looks. The man is undeniably attractive, but there’s something about him that rubs Dakin up the wrong way. He has a pronounced south London accent, and swaggers about in tatty jeans and bare feet, which is annoying, but something less tangible gets under Dakin's skin. Even so, now he’s met him, he isn’t immune to a pricking of shame for ruining the poor bloke’s – well, if not his life, then certainly his past year,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He tries out a bit of friendly banter, and calls him Gareth as a silly nickname, which is a mistake. Gary doesn’t realise it’s a joke, and doesn’t appreciate it once it's explained to him. Over the next few weeks, Dakin occasionally throws it out again, just to see the muscles working in his jaw as his teeth grind together.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What do you do?” He asks, to break the silence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Gary’s a cook” Jess weighs in, when it looks like he isn’t going to answer for himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What, like a chef?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No,” He sighs, somehow implying a humiliating faux pas. “I don’t work in catering. There’s a difference.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What does a cook do then?” Dakin asks, refusing to take the bait.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I do cookbooks and I have a regular magazine column, maybe you’ve seen it in Good Housekeeping”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dakin snorts a laugh and Gary scowls at him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, you’re not joking. Dorry, no”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Other than the simmering tension, it wears him out, trying to have a conversation with Jess about whether he should pick the kid up from childcare three days a week or two, While her new boyfriend clings onto her like a barnacle, and provides as much conversation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s like he’s <em>proud</em> of being weird and uncouth” He gripes to Tom after the second afternoon he’s spent round there, being closely monitored and ‘tsk’ed at from the sidelines - this turns out to be a mistake.They end up having a blazing row and it takes a shaken Dakin a few days and a lot of work to persuade him that he isn’t still pining after Jess. After that, he neglects to mention any thoughts that don’t directly concern the baby, but it continues to niggle at him in a way that’s low-level, but constant; like an itch he can’t scratch.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The next time he visits, Jessica sports two diamond rings: the divorce ring sparkles on her right hand, overshadowing the tasteful new engagement ring shining on her left in place of her wedding ring and the tiny solitaire that was Dakin’s engagement ring.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What kind of name is <em>Gary</em>?” Dakin asks her, with undisguised distaste, as they brainstorm baby names on the balcony.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She doesn’t look up from her list. “His name. Why do you care?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And <em>‘a cook’</em>. Is he from a period drama? That’s not a job. It's ridiculous.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stu, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were jealous”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m not jealous in that sense. Our thing has run its course and I’m happy for you”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well then” She scoops her hair up off her neck to provide a little respite from the summer humidity, and turns back to her notebook.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He puts his own book down with a sigh. “… I would have preferred it if you’d traded up, that’s all.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She stops what she’s doing, a laugh stuttering from her open mouth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You are such a fucking snob!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can’t be a snob, I’m working class”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Your parents are.” She snorts. “Newsflash: not everyone worth knowing went to Oxford”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ve never shagged anyone who didn’t” He lies, glibly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Exactly, snob. How are you getting on with your new man? I expect he’s dreadfully middle-class”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dakin squints into the sun and shrugs. “Still trying to persuade him to call me ‘Daddy’ in bed, but he’s older so he says it doesn’t work”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She shakes her head and turns away to hide her smirk. “We should be brainstorming child friendly conversation”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It was just a joke - he’s got no problem with it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Jesus, forget I asked. I was just trying to take a genuine interest”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sorry. I’m still trying to get him to move in with me, although honestly, I think I prefer his place. It’s more, I dunno, homely”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hardly surprising; yours is like a rental, would it kill you to put up a picture?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dakin shrugs. “I guess I never felt at home there until now”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There’s that sweet boy I married” She coos.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Behind them the balcony door slides open and Gary appears with a glass of liquorice-smelling herbal tea. He sets it down between them and takes up a position behind Jessica, his chin resting on the top of her head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t spend too long out here” He glares at Dakin. “Remember you’re supposed to be putting your feet up”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We won’t be long, love. Stu needs to go in a minute, anyway”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“For God’s sake” Dakin groans, once he’s retreated back indoors. “Is he always like that?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, it’s because I’m with him, and yet I’m about to give birth to your baby and we’re sitting giggling together out of his earshot. Give him a break, he’s been fucked around enough and he’s being wonderful about it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He supposes she’s got a point, but he doesn’t have to like the guy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just, don’t take any shit from him, ok? You don’t owe him anything”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She lays a hand over his, her face softening.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Chapter 26</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dakin has a decision to make... if he'll just stop posturing for a moment</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Right I swear the next one will be the last. I broke it into two because I felt I'd neglected to post for too long now, but I know what I'm doing, I promise, but I'm sorry this is short and sweet Xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>Picking a name is the fun part - even though it means a flood of tears from Jess when they find the right one; something that makes Dakin feel useless and conjures Gary from thin air. Planning custody arrangements is exciting, and sets off a warm tingles in his stomach, along with the realisation that it’s all <em>really happening</em>. Planning for the birth itself is the difficult bit.</p><p> </p><p>Overseeing a birthing plan isn’t exactly high up Dakin’s list of enjoyable ways to spend a few hours, but when she says that she wants Gary there for support, frustration gives way to anger. His worst nightmares of biology and jealous posturing combine to make what is without doubt one of the worst afternoons in Dakin’s memory.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re winding me up, right?”</p><p> </p><p>His eyes dart between their serious faces, until the smile falls from his lips.</p><p> </p><p>In answer, Gary wraps an arm around Jess and draws her into him.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s my son!” He wails, gesturing at her pregnant stomach, “He’s going to live with this man, and have him around twenty-four-fucking-seven from day one and now he’s going to be replacing me in the delivery room? Are you fucking kidding me?” He punctuates his point with angry jabs of his finger.</p><p> </p><p>Gary opens his mouth to interject and Dakin tells him to fuck off before he gets the chance.</p><p> </p><p>“Not productive, boys!” Jess yells, her hands extended. “Gary, love, would you give us a moment?” She turns big eyes up to him and he stands reluctantly, looking like he would like to spit at Dakin, who for his part would love an excuse to punch him on the nose.</p><p> </p><p>“Just call if you need me, Sweetheart” He simpers on his way to the door, with a final black look in Dakin’s direction.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh piss off!” He snarls at the closing door.</p><p> </p><p>“Stu! Nobody is replacing you” She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose, and Dakin’s anger wavers. She doesn’t look as though she has the energy to fight him.</p><p> </p><p>“This boy is going to have a dad and a step-dad and no amount of macho posturing is going to change that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why don’t you tell that to <em>Gary</em>”</p><p> </p><p>She throws her head back with a groan. “Ugh, can we save the tantrums for the baby? You are welcome to be there for the birth, if you want. That’s what I wanted to discuss with you, which you’d know if you stopped acting like a kid for five seconds. You’ve done most of the classes anyway, so it might be… I don’t know, nice. I still think of you as my best mate and you’re his dad – but you have to behave like a human instead of a chest-beating gorilla. I’m the one giving birth and I want him there for me, it’s my choice, so suck it up.”</p><p> </p><p>Once he’s calmed down, he has to go through the humiliating ordeal of apologising to Gary, who gives him a lecture about subjecting Jessica to stress when she’s so close to her due date. It takes all of Dakin’s willpower not to swallow his own tongue. The worst thing is he has a point. They both do.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Stepping out into the diesel laden air, he wants nothing more than to go straight home and complain loudly to Tom and have him soothe all the stress and petty rage away, but he knows better, so he goes for a drink instead.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Two pints in he’s feeling calmer. Glancing at the clock above the bar, he remembers with a shock that he’d told Tom to come round for eight. He will have been waiting at the flat for hours, he might even have given up and gone home already. Pulling out his mobile to text him, Dakin curses as the battery dies before he can press send.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“I’m so sorry, babe.” He’s talking before his key turns in the lock. “The time got away from me – I needed a walk to clear my head after – What?” He stops in his tracks, the rush of mostly honest apologies dying on his lips.</p><p> </p><p>Irwin is waiting for him by the front door, his arms folded and a superior smirk playing around his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>“Excellent timing. Your wife just phoned”</p><p> </p><p>The blood leaves his face in a rush. “Shit, is it the baby? Is she in labour?”</p><p> </p><p>“No. She did mention that she had a bit of a scare after you left and you need to make your bloody mind up sharpish - a direct quote. I hope it’s less dramatic than it sounds”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re one to talk about dramatics. You scared the fucking life out of me! What did my <em>ex-wife</em> say to you?” He scowls, clutching at his chest.</p><p> </p><p>“Your<em> soon to b</em>e ex wife didn’t have much else to say to me”</p><p> </p><p>“You talked to her though?”</p><p> </p><p>He shrugs and Dakin notices he’s dressed for bed in a soft t-shirt and boxers, his hair sleep-mussed and his feet bare.</p><p> </p><p>“I introduced myself and said I’d pass on the message, that’s all. No gossiping about you behind your back, in case you’re worried.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not. I was hoping you got to know each other a bit” He scuffs the toes of his shoe against the hall carpet and suppresses a beer-flavoured burp.</p><p> </p><p>“It was really just a message. Not much I can get from someone with only a voice to go on. Is there something wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>Pouting, he explains the birth plan and his predicament, deciding to skip dinner in favour of following Tom to the bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s the problem? You want to be there, she’s happy for you to be there…”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah but, the classes and the doctors were bad enough. What if I faint? Or worse, throw up? I’ll never live it down”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re absolutely adorable.” Still smirking, he leans over to plant a soft kiss on Dakin’s mouth. “You could watch a documentary and see how you feel?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Chapter 27</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dakin may not be prepared but he is loved up, and that's something.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A note to say that Dakin's views of the NHS do not echo my own, he's a snob and new money, to boot. </p><p> </p><p>I didn't intend to break it up this way originally so I hope it doesn't feel choppy.</p><p>I can't believe I'm ready to let this beastie go. Thank you so much to all of you who've been cheerleading. You're fabulous Xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>The video tape titled<em> ‘The Facts Of Life: From Conception to Birth for Key Stage 3’</em> that Tom signed out of the BBC archives has him looking prouder than he has any right to be.</p><p> </p><p>“They gave me a funny look but signed it out to me no problem” He grins, brandishing it as soon as Dakin steps through the door. “I thought we could watch it together over dinner.”</p><p> </p><p>“Weirdest date night ever” He grumbles, but makes himself comfortable on Tom’s sofa anyway, agreement implicit as he kicks his shoes off and stretches out.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Forty minutes later, he finds his feet kicked to the floor, a bowl of pasta in one hand and half a glass of wine in the other, leaving him wondering how he got so lucky so fast and feeling that there must have been some great admin mistake in the life of Stuart Dakin department.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m <em>au fait</em> with the conception, you can skip ahead.” He mumbles around a mouthful of spaghetti, as the actors on screen fumble silently under the concealment of a big duvet. “Unless this sort of thing gets your motor running”</p><p> </p><p>Tom slaps what he can reach of his jean-clad arse. In response Dakin pokes him in what he knows is his ticklish spot.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Tom tucks into his spaghetti Bolognese unfazed, absorbed in the programme, while Dakin picks at his dinner, wishing he had less red sauce given the circumstances, and far more alcohol.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not too bad mostly, but the moment at which the baby arrives – asphyxiation-blue and in a mess of red and purple goo - his vision whites out completely and he has to lie down for several minutes.</p><p> </p><p>He’s aware of Tom in his periphery turning it off and dabbing his head with a cold cloth while failing to stifle his laughter.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“It’s not as if he’ll remember it” He rationalises once he’s able to see again and the ringing in his ears has mostly subsided.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re no good to the doctors if you faint, darling” Tom immediately turns red “I’ll, er, get you a glass of water”</p><p> </p><p>“Would you be offended if you found out your dad wasn’t there when you were born?” He asks between gulps, as Tom – almost back to his normal colour, perches beside him.</p><p> </p><p>“I know he wasn’t. He was at work”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” He laughs, humourlessly “Mine was down the pub”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, mine went for a drink to celebrate before he came to the hospital. He’s a doctor, or was, so there’s no excuse.” He nudges Dakin in the side with a sly grin. “I’m always going to win this competition, by the way”</p><p> </p><p>“What competition?”</p><p> </p><p>“Your ‘<em>Who’s got the worst father’</em> competition”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin snorts. “At least yours is still around, I don’t even have my dad’s address”</p><p> </p><p>“Never lost contact with mine, but do you think he’s spoken to me of his own accord in the past twenty years? I phone up and it’s: <em>‘Right, I’ll get your mother’</em>” He affects a gruff, strained voice.</p><p> </p><p>“At least he didn’t dump her for a girl half his age”</p><p> </p><p>“No, he just expects her to put up with it whenever he has an affair, and for none of us to ever mention it.”</p><p> </p><p>“And look at us” He mutters glumly. “We’re both fine”</p><p> </p><p>Tom wraps an arm around his shoulder and squeezes. “You want to be there, that already makes you better than half of the fathers who live with their kids, ok? Just keep wanting to be there. Tell Jessica you’ll wait outside, I’m sure she’ll understand.”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin disengages enough to give him a weak smile. “I think I need a brandy after that video. For the shock” He explains, tucking his head back against Tom’s cheek.</p><p> </p><p>Dropping a kiss onto his forehead, Tom disengages from their hug and pats his leg. “I’ll make you a sweet cup of tea, cures everything. You should listen to me, my dad’s a doctor, remember”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Baby Alexander Dakin arrives, very conveniently, the following Friday afternoon.</p><p> </p><p>Dakin gets the call at lunchtime and, miraculously, only incurs one speeding fine on his way to the hospital.</p><p> </p><p>He had expected the experience to be horrific; life changing: the sound of agonised screams echoing along sterile corridors, possibly with wimple-clad nurses bustling about, indifferent to the suffering around them, but it’s nothing like that. Instead, he waits in a comfortable room with classical music bouncing gently off the soft furnishings and where sympathetic women in powder blue scrub dresses bring him updates and tea with kindly smiles. Thank God for private, he thinks, unconsciously flinching at the thought of what Scripps would say to that. Theoretically he agrees, but in practice there’s no way he’s having his kid delivered in a dirty room by chronically exhausted staff.</p><p> </p><p>Sooner than expected, the midwife shows him through.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s waiting for his dad to hold him” She smiles, and he follows her, numbed into silence.</p><p> </p><p>Jess had promised that nobody excepting herself and the midwife would touch their baby before Dakin. She looks wrecked but she’s beaming when he enters, cradling a bundle that must be too small to be the baby.</p><p> </p><p>He kisses her on the cheek as he takes his son, not even seeing Gary on her other side. Gunge covered and red though Alexander is, Dakin thinks he’s never seen anyone more beautiful in all his life.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Tom is waiting up for him when he gets in.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s he like?”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s fucking perfect” He grins. “You’ll love him”</p><p> </p><p>Tom smiles nervously and Dakin knows he’s worried that he won’t, he knows because he was worried about the same thing himself, but now he’s seen him there’s no doubt in his mind: Tom will be smitten from first sight.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry, you can’t not. He’s amazing” He kisses his grin into Tom’s mouth.</p><p> </p><p>Smiling in response, he pulls away and walks into the kitchen, Dakin following, undeterred.</p><p> </p><p>“You just – you have to see him, that’s all”</p><p> </p><p>“When do you want to introduce us?”</p><p> </p><p>He shrugs, his face still split by the grin he can’t shake off. “As soon as you like. I’m going to see him tomorrow. I’ll ask Jess if you can come. She won’t let anyone see her without her makeup, but if she’s alright with it, I’ll bring him into the waiting room and you guys can get acquainted”</p><p> </p><p>Tom nods, still looking shit-scared. “Before I forget” He pulls a bottle of champagne from the fridge. “I thought I’d make myself useful while we were waiting. I know you’re cutting back, but I thought as it’s a special occasion…”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re the best”</p><p> </p><p>Some of the worry melts out of his face, and Dakin has a flash of clarity that the apprehension may not be entirely down to worry over his relationship with little Alex.</p><p> </p><p>The cork springs from the bottle with a loud bang and he jumps, startled from a world of his own.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m so fucking happy” He accepts his glass but instead of sipping he sets it on the counter and pulls Tom close. “I’m a dad – I can’t believe it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Congratulations”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not going to run out on you again, I promise”</p><p> </p><p>Tom grins then, too and rests their foreheads together.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m the luckiest guy alive: I’m a dad, and I’m in love.”</p><p> </p><p>“Stop.” Tom pulls away as far as he can with Dakin holding on around his waist.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean it”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not saying you don’t but… it’ll mean more when you’re sober is all”</p><p> </p><p>His grin doesn’t dim. “I swear I’m stone cold sober”</p><p> </p><p>“On drink, perhaps, but right now…” He shakes his head “it’s the hormones talking”</p><p> </p><p>“Hormones” He snorts. ‘What are you talking about? I haven’t given birth”</p><p> </p><p>“Men have hormones too, you know”</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, I know, but they’re not talking. They’re giving me the courage to say what I’ve known for months”</p><p> </p><p>Tom takes his hand, threads his fingers through Dakin’s own. “Come to bed”</p><p> </p><p>“You not going to tell me you love me too?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nope.” He grins back. “Where would be the fun in that?”</p><p> </p><p>Dakin lets himself be pulled through to the bedroom, and the champagne is forgotten until morning.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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